An Inspector Calls
by Hannah-1888
Summary: Educational reform wasn't welcome to Professor Snape, and it certainly wasn't welcome in the form of Hermione Granger! SS/HG
1. Part One

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 1**

It was something that the Ministry had been deliberating over for some time, but, nevertheless, the visit from officials at the Department for Magical Education still came as a bit of a surprise. Educational reform, they called it; bringing standards up to scratch—establishing Hogwarts as one of the foremost schools for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was the _only_ school for Witchcraft and Wizardry for miles and miles, as I pointed out; it was already bloody foremost!

It didn't matter what I said. Hogwarts, though ultimately a part of the Wizarding Establishment, had always been unique for its autonomy. Autonomy made manifest not only by its physical location in the back of beyond, but also by its decentralised governance. As long as things were running smoothly, there was no need of interference from other quarters, that is, the Ministry. _Why now?_ I wondered. Why, when things had finally quietened down—when things had finally straightened themselves out following the War—did they want to start fiddling with the educational system?

Maybe that was it; they were bored.

I persisted in my assurances that the status quo was fine as it was, and it was then that they finally became frank with me.

'It's the Muggle parents,' they said. 'Increasingly, they want to know what type of place they are sending their children off to. "We're not even allowed to visit!" they argue. "You expect me to send my child to a school I don't even know the first thing about?"'

'Everything is explained to them by a member of staff,' I reminded. 'What more do they need? Hell, send them a bloody copy of _Hogwarts: a History!_ '

Or maybe not—there are a few periods in Hogwarts' lengthy history that have the ability to potentially make one's hair curl.

'They want some proof—something official. They want to know everything. Who runs the school? What subjects are there on offer? Will my child get a rounded education? What are the facilities like? What are the dormitories like? What are the teaching standards like? What kinds of meals are provided? What kind of support can my child expect to receive? The list is endless!'

I shook my head incredulously. 'It's a school—they come here to learn, what else is there? Our O.W.L and N.E.W.T qualification records speak for themselves. This has never been an issue before.'

'It's the effect of the War,' they pressed. 'Muggles are becoming particularly wary of our world. There is an alarming trend developing where parents are opting to send their child into the Muggle educational system. They feel it is safer—no War would ever take place in a Muggle school. You can't imagine the problems we will face with untrained witches and wizards functioning exclusively in Muggle society.'

I supposed that they did have a point. 'We cannot force them to attend Hogwarts,' I observed redundantly.

'We are reliant on the influx of Muggle-borns.'

'Rich Muggles often pay well, do they not?'

'Let us not get into the thorny issue of funding, Headmaster. This problem is not even confined to Muggle-borns. We were contacted by the parents of a half-blood child who requested the name of their child to be removed from the register. When we enquired as to how the child would learn magic whilst attending Muggle schooling, the wizard replied he would be home-schooled with regard to his magical development.'

I sighed, unable to deny that this was a serious issue. 'What exactly to you propose this reform to entail, then?'

The dimwits before me shifted uncomfortably.

'We have, ah, borrowed an idea from the Muggles, in the hope that it will appeal to those currently with doubts. We will produce an annual school report, including everything from a detailed breakdown of expenditure; educational performance of each year group in terms of the internal and external end-of-year exams, as well as which subjects are performing the best; extra-curricular activities; any staffing changes will be included, and so on and so forth.'

I stared at them. 'And who is to draw up this report?'

'We will need your input, as well as that of your staff, in providing certain details; but ultimately, it will be the Ministry's responsibility.'

'And this report will be made publicly available, I take it?'

The pair of Ministry-workers nodded their assent. 'We only want to show the school at its best. This document, with pictures and so forth, will really play to the school's advantages, showcase its facilities—'

I frowned deeply. 'You want to market this school as you would some two-bit piece of meat?'

'Hogwarts' reputation is not enough on its own anymore, Professor.'

I scoffed.

'There's something else...'

'Oh?' Why was there always something else?

'Muggle authorities thoroughly inspect their schools every five years or so; we are considering adopting this approach too.'

A swell of anger rose up inside of me. 'You want to send a bunch of interfering busybodies into my school to tell my teachers their job?'

They both shook their heads vehemently. 'Headmaster, we assure you, appointed inspectors will merely ensure that the school is running efficiently and performing to a standard that is acceptable.'

'Are you questioning _my_ ability to run the school, then?'

They shrank back in their seats. 'This is not personal, Professor Snape—'

'I forbid it,' I announced imperiously.

'I am afraid the decree will be passed.'

'It is not necessary!'

'Headmaster, the findings of the inspection will be made public to parents. We hope that it will restore confidence in the school.'

I glared at them, bunch of jumped up bureaucrats that they were. I took pleasure in their squirming. 'And what if the Ministry does not like what the report finds?'

'Well, then... changes will have to be made.'

Changes; I'd give them both bloody changes! If only I'd known there and then the amount of trouble and upheaval this charade would cause me, I would have... Would have what? I was powerless; they knew it, and so did I.

I was determined to show them, though.

Minerva was just as indignant when I informed her of the developments. The feather in her hat quivered with irritation as she unleashed a rant at me.

'This is _outrageous_ , Severus! For Merlin's sake, couldn't you have stopped them? To think that I will have to put up with someone looking over my shoulder while I'm teaching! _Me_ , who has taught for over _fifty_ years! It was bad enough when that bloody Umbridge woman went on her power trip that time, but this takes the cake! I mean—'

I could only listen to her woes for so long.

'Minerva!' I interrupted, rubbing my temples. 'Do you honestly think I laid myself prostrate at their feet so they could simply walk all over me?'

She paused in her pacing and looked at me sternly through her spectacles. 'Sorry—I know you wouldn't have had any choice.'

'There is nothing to be done, Minerva. We have a few months to prepare for this... _abomination_. It will probably be held during May. The Chief Inspector of the team will visit us in a couple of weeks' time for a preliminary meeting with the staff.'

She raised her arms in defeat. 'Well, it'll be all right, won't it, Severus? We run a tight ship, don't we?'

I looked at her grimly. 'Even a tight ship has holes somewhere, Minerva, and we are no exception.'

She nodded wistfully. 'True...'

'We will have to deal with those holes, Minerva. They _expect_ us to slip up. Can't you imagine the smug satisfaction on their faces as they tell us we should be doing this, or we should be doing that? What we want to do is pre-empt them. This whole endeavour is pointless, and I want them to leave here thinking the same. We'll bloody well show them that they can't just swan in here throwing their weight around!'

'How will we go about that?' asked Minerva with a small smile.

'That is where some research comes in, Professor. Listen, I have some tasks for the both of us...'

* * *

While Minerva and I were working on developing our strategy, I also had to inform the staff at large. Minerva called an emergency staff meeting and I stood at the head of the table, glancing around at each and every one of them.

Merlin, but they were a motley looking bunch!

I relayed to them the situation we were in, and as I expected, there was shock.

'Assessing _our_ teaching standards—the effrontery!' exclaimed Filius.

'Not j _ust_ our teaching standards—everything!' added Minerva, as if the fire needed any more stoking.

' _Everything_? Merlin's arse, what are we going to do?' shouted Pomona.

'It's all under control,' I assured them. 'I will be meeting with you all in due course to discuss how best to proceed with your specific duties. Any concerns you have will be raised then. If you think there are issues that need addressing, bring them to me then.'

Merlin only knew what problems I'd unearth during my meetings with my staff. If there were holes in the ship, I'd be bloody well sniffing them out and plugging them in very soon, so we'd be watertight once more.

'If you have problem students, I want to know about them. If you haven't been planning your lessons properly, I want to know about it. If you are behind in your marking, get your arses in gear and sort it out! If your classrooms have seen better days, tidy them up! If your textbooks are falling apart, order some new ones! If you've been cutting corners anywhere, now will be the time to tell me.'

From the shifty looks some of them were exchanging, things didn't look promising.

'Minerva will present you with a time and a date for your arranged discussion with me. Heads of Houses are to bring all records of any issues in their Houses for the past year, and those in charge of budgets, I want to see your accounts from the last three years—not just your total expenditure, I want details. Is that clear?'

Rumblings of, 'Of course, Severus,' and 'Yes, Severus,' arose from the table and I nodded.

I expected only one thing to occur in the next few weeks—chaos; complete and utter chaos.

* * *

It was two weeks later and Minerva and I were still perfecting our plan of action. We had been waiting for the meeting with the head of the inspection team before putting the finishing touches on it. Then we would begin our preparations in earnest. This school was going to come out with nothing less than an outstanding report. That would wipe the pedantry off the Ministry's interfering faces, _and_ the misplaced distrust off the parents'.

'Remember to be nice to them, Severus...' urged Minerva as we walked to the Entrance Hall to meet the inspector. 'Is it a man or a woman?'

I shrugged. 'No idea, Minerva. The Ministry is being deliberately vague about everything. They haven't even given me a name. And nice… I'm always bloody nice!'

Minerva pursed her lips in disagreement. 'You would do well to remember, Severus, greater things are at stake here, so it would behove you to show a little more agreeableness in your manner.'

I ignored her. 'Now, I imagine our chief inspector will be some crusty, old doddering fool with aeons of time on his hands—hence his decision to be part of this ridiculous charade. You know what will have to be done if he is not impressed with our school, don't you?' I asked lightly.

She looked at me curiously as we descended the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall.

'You'll have to seduce him into believing otherwise.'

Her look was one of such priceless outrage that it was all I could do to maintain my stoic countenance. She was even blushing slightly. 'I'll have you know I prefer a younger man, Severus.'

I almost lost my footing on the stairs, and there was an answering look of triumph on her face.

'There—that's got you worried, hasn't it?' Her smirk was smug.

We paused by the doors and I moved to open one for our imminent... guest. Pulling open the door let in a huge swathe of light, and I peered down the sloping grounds for sign of our crusty old man. There was none, but there _was_ a sight I had no wish to see. No bloody wish at all. I kicked the doorframe angrily.

'Fucking hell, Minerva! I don't believe this!'

'Severus!' she blustered. 'I have told you before not to use such uncouth language in my presence!'

I moved from the doorway towards Minerva. 'Hermione flaming Granger is trotting up the lawns as we speak! Don't tell me her visit is a coincidence!'

How I hated her subsequent look of joy. 'Miss Granger is the inspector?' she asked hurriedly. 'Oh, Severus, this is marvellous! She would never give us a bad report!'

'Minerva,' I hissed. 'She is such a stickler for the rules she would shop her own grandmother for lifting a boiled sweet from Honeydukes'!'

'Surely, you exaggerate, Severus!'

This was not happening; no, by Merlin, it could not be happening. Hogwarts was done for. I would not be able to restrain myself in the presence of that infuriating know-it-all. It was an irrepressible fact.

'Mark me, Minerva. This will not end well.'

She only frowned and moved past me to greet the figure that had appeared in the doorway.

'Professor McGonagall,' Granger cried. 'It's lovely to see you, again!'

'Miss Granger! Welcome back to Hogwarts!'

Ugh, would they even notice if I excused myself from this tedious love-in? After several minutes of inane pleasantries between the pair, Minerva finally left the hall to see that the rest of the staff was ready and waiting in the staff room. It was too late to wish for a role-reversal. I was stuck with escorting my worst nightmare. Granger started clip-clopping across the flagstones towards me, her hand outstretched. Her voluminous hair was scraped back into a bun, and she was wearing rather prim-looking attire; the whole look aged her by about ten years or more.

'Professor Snape,' she greeted evenly.

'Miss Granger,' I murmured silkily, ignoring her hand. 'Forgive me, but I must have fallen asleep while you were gaining vaunted experience in the educational profession, because no one would be stupid enough to entrust such a responsibility to a mere pretender, would they? Come, let us walk.'

She seemed frozen for a moment, but then her step caught up with mine. I moved with my customary silence, she with the absurd sound of her shoes echoing off the walls—bloody chit.

'I don't think it's any of your business as to why I was chosen for this position. If the Ministry feels I'm up to it, then it is immaterial, is it not?'

Ah, so she felt her inexperience too. Her reply had smacked of one thing—rehearsal.

'I think we both have very different views on what is immaterial and what is not.'

'We shall simply have to disagree on the matter, Headmaster.'

I wanted to say more on the subject, but there was no time for that while a roomful of teachers awaited us. No doubt they would all fawn over her as Minerva had, believing her to be their reprieve. They were misguided fools if they did.

As soon as I opened the door it was as I expected. "Oh, Miss Granger!" "It's so nice to see you, Miss Granger!" The worst of it was that I knew most of them were genuine in their delight at seeing her—it was not brown-nosing.

I noted with appreciation Horace's narrowed gaze as Miss Granger and I stepped to the front of the room. We Slytherins never miss a trick. He knew as well as I that she was not a reprieve. She was in the pockets of the Ministry as much as any other upstart they might have sent.

'As is no doubt painfully obvious, Miss Granger is here because it is she who will oversee our inspection.'

Filius actually wriggled with anticipation and I resisted strongly the urge to hex him.

'Miss Granger will now avail us of the minutiae of this... _farce_ , and any questions you may have, now is the time to ask them.'

I sat down abruptly and stared at Granger expectantly. She didn't look particularly nervous—no doubt her Gryffindor sense of entitlement overrode any disquiet.

'My name is Hermione Granger, for those who don't know me, and I will be heading the inspection team from the recently set up Office for Standards in Education. There will be four of us in total, and we will all be responsible for certain sections of the curriculum. Mr Ignatius Appleby will be my deputy, and he will be in charge of most of the core subjects—Transfiguration, Charms, Potions and Herbology.'

'Oh, good Merlin, he taught me Charms when I was in school!' exclaimed Minerva.

'Did they have to resurrect him for this, then?' I muttered to myself.

Granger nodded. 'Yes, he has a good deal of experience when it comes to Hogwarts, in fact all of my colleagues have experience in teaching.'

I snorted, and she turned her eyes to me briefly, but didn't say anything. At least _someone_ would know what they were talking about, at least. She, on the other hand, could claim no such thing, though undoubtedly, she would try.

'Mr Jeremiah Jones will be responsible for Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Astronomy, as well as sports and leisure within the school.'

I caught Minerva's eye, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. We'd researched our Muggle counterparts well, and found several areas in which we could make improvements. Sports was one of them. In fact, it would seem Mr Jeremiah Jones was in charge of a lot of our weak spots.

'Mrs Ivy Lewis is the inspector for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies, as well as student welfare, to include dormitories, meals, and so on. I will be focusing on the management and leadership side of things—accounts, budgets, records, resources, but also, I will be spending time in all areas of the castle, talking to students et cetera.'

 _Oh goody_ , I thought. Granger would be checking up on _me_.

'I'm afraid the _only_ stone to remain unturned will be the Infirmary as that is already subject to certain standards set and managed by the Department of Health. Now, before we go any further, I would just like to point that we, the inspectors, are acting entirely independently from the Ministry—'

I couldn't help it—I interrupted. 'Yet, are you not currently employed by the Ministry, in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures? I say Miss Granger, does the phrase 'conflict of interest' mean nothing to you?'

Her jaw clenched, and I almost smirked.

'Of the team, I am the only one to have been under the employ of the Ministry in recent years. For my own part, I have taken a sabbatical from my position there to undertake this task. If you are implying that I am party to any governmental double motive, then you are sorely mistaken.'

'Oh, I would never imply such a thing, Miss Granger. In fact, the thought hadn't crossed my mind.'

She saw that I didn't mean a word of what I'd just said, and she was right. It was ridiculous to think she hadn't been appointed for anything other than an ulterior motive. Forget all the guff about independence, the Ministry's influence was everywhere. She would be responsible for assessing my leadership and managements skills—what a surprise! I had the distinct impression that I was staring a comprehensive whitewash in the face.

She didn't address me further—she turned back to the room as a whole. 'We are not looking to catch any of you out. All we want to do is come in quietly, sit in on a few lessons, and just generally get a feel for the place. This is not something to worry about—'

'So, we won't get sacked if we are found to be below par?' asked George Blackwell, the Muggle Studies teacher.

I inwardly nodded with approval—he'd just gone up in my estimation.

'I cannot answer that, I'm afraid,' said Granger, a patronising look of concern on her face. 'We will only report what we find; the Department for Education will decide how to act on the findings.'

I turned in my seat to the gathering behind me. 'What Miss Granger is being so vague about is that if the findings are unfavourable, there will be an intervention from the Ministry. That's what happens in Muggle schools, isn't it? And that is what this has been based upon, has it not?'

She glared at me uncomfortably as a hubbub of whispering broke out. I shrugged minutely; by Merlin I wasn't going to make this easy for her.

'Please,' she spoke entreatingly, 'such measures are only ever taken in extreme circumstances. Please don't worry about it. You may see the document published as to our remit, and that of the Department for Education if you are concerned—everything is explained in there, including the points scale and criteria we use to assess each area.'

'Rest assured we will be looking at it Miss Granger—very closely, indeed.'

Minerva looked at me sternly, as if to say, 'Stop antagonising her!' I ignored her. Her precious concern for her former Gryffindor was vomit-inducing.

Granger raised a hand as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, but faltered when she seemed to remember her hair was locked in a tight prison. Good, she was uncomfortable. Maybe she would now have some idea of what my teachers would face when they had some nosy git watching their every move all day.

'My team and I will arrive in two months from now. All I would ask is that by then you have selected a sample of work from the top tier pupils, middle tier pupils, and bottom tier pupils, for each of your year groups so that we may look at them. Apart from that, I really feel that you have nothing to worry about. Just pretend that we are not here...'

She offered an encouraging smile, and I just knew that if I turned around I'd see answering smiles on the faces of some. Well, I only hoped they'd still be smiling when Miss Granger had wreaked havoc upon us.

I decided there and then that I would be keeping a close eye on her. She would be watching my every move, and well, it was only polite for me to do the same. If she wanted to discredit me, or my staff, or my school, then I would discredit her, too.

It was only fair.

After the meeting was concluded, I hurried Granger from the room before anyone was idiotic enough to invite her to stay for dinner. Minerva had been looking precariously close to suggesting it, but I quickly cast a temporary _Silencio_ on her. I'd probably pay for it later, but there was no way Granger was staying here any longer than necessary. I didn't know why I was bothering to escort her all the way to the Entrance Hall. It wasn't as if she didn't know the way. I suppose I wanted to make sure she didn't wander off anywhere and start her spying already. No doubt, she was probably starting to catalogue certain things already, like, 'Oh, there's a bit of wall crumbled away! Isn't that rather dangerous for the kiddies?'

I flung open the doors. 'Fare thee well, then, Miss Granger. I shall await your next visit with unbearable anticipation.'

She frowned up at me, and I wondered if she would retaliate like some indignant fifth-year. She didn't. There was something almost resigned in her expression.

'See you in two months, Professor.'

I watched her totter down the steps, and I deliberately followed her progress over the grounds, hoping she could sense my appraisal and that it made her uneasy. It was only when that ridiculous bun had disappeared through the gates that I slammed the doors shut.

Two months? A bloody lifetime wouldn't be long enough.

* * *

AN: The title is, of course, a blatant rip from J. B. Priestley's play ' _An Inspector Calls_ ,' but it is there the similarities end.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Part Two

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling_

 **Part 2**

'Right then, Minerva. What have you found in those wearisome reports? What struck you as significant?'

We were discussing the improvements we should make before the inspectors arrived, in just less than two months time. We'd both trawled our way through Muggle inspection reports that I'd found in a Muggle library in Edinburgh. Minerva turned a business-like expression towards me. 'Several things; did you notice how obsessed they are with healthy-eating? Keeping fit?'

'I did, yes.'

'Do you think many of our children are overweight? Do they get enough exercise?'

'They do if they are unfortunate enough as to have Potions scheduled next to Astronomy. They have acres of grounds to run about in—it's not a problem, Minerva.'

'That's very true; what about sports, though, Severus? We have one sport—Quidditch, and only a select few play it. They say sports are good for fostering team-building skills, or something.'

Oh Merlin, what a load of patronising nonsense. 'What are we going to do, then? Are you going to teach them gymnastics in the Great Hall?'

I forced myself not to give any indication as to the amusement I felt at the image conjured up in my mind. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't rise to it.

'It is not our responsibility if the curriculum does not allow for such things as... gymnastics, however, we may use our initiative to appeal to the Muggles' love of team sports. What about if we introduced a few Muggle sports? We could easily use the Quidditch pitch as a football pitch, when it's not in use. I have also looked up netball, too. Or tennis could be an option, as well.'

'How would this work exactly?'

'All we need to do is provide the equipment and the space. The children can choose to use it during their free time if they are so inclined. If it takes off, maybe they can organise tournaments or something.'

'Will this cost much?'

'No, not at all. The _only_ thing I'm concerned about is that the inspectors will realise it's a very recent development and think we're only doing it to please them.'

'We _are_ only doing it to please them,' I corrected, and she smiled. 'But they won't know unless they ask, and well, we can be vague. I think we should try it out, anyway. I read something that concerned me deeply, Minerva.'

'Oh?'

My grave tone clearly worried her, but yes, I was very much concerned. 'Two words, Professor—'pastoral care'.'

There was a small smile upon her face. 'Ah, yes, that.'

'We're not going down that road, Minerva, of coddling, touchy-feely nonsense.'

I shivered.

Minerva appeared to find amusement in my words, for a glint appeared in her eyes. 'It's a very real concern, Severus. Homesickness, bullying, social development...'

'Wrapping them up in cotton wool, you mean?'

She smiled slightly. 'Well, Heads of Houses already perform these duties, in a manner of speaking.'

'I don't know what goes on in Gryffindor, but I assure, we never had discussions about _social development_ in Slytherin.'

'Clearly…' She smirked. ' I think we could perhaps put more oomph into it.'

'How about drawing up some official guidelines and distributing them amongst the staff? Would that provide enough "oomph"?'

Minerva nodded and made a sound of acknowledgement, but there was a hint of a frown upon her face. I smiled inwardly. She was just as uptight as me.

'You're going to deal with Hagrid and Sybill, aren't you?'

I sighed. 'Yes; speaking of, put it about that I'd appreciate a limit on the amount of alcohol consumed during the week of the inspection, would you? The last thing we need is having one of the inspectors enquiring as to what that smell is.'

Minerva hummed. 'Yes, I've spoken to Horace as it is.'

We lapsed into silence for a moment, and I noticed a shadow fall across her face. 'Something wrong?' I asked, aiming for detachment, but I was actually slightly apprehensive. 'Is your faith in Miss Granger crumbling already?'

'There are three others to convince, Severus—not just Miss Granger. Have you found out any more about them?'

I clasped my hands together. 'Appleby, as you know, taught here. I believe he left in 1935 and has not been back since. Interestingly, both Jeremiah Jones and Ivy Lewis have never set foot in Hogwarts.'

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise. 'That's very odd—their names sound British...'

'The Ministry have been crafty, here, Minerva. Both of them were taught overseas, and have taught overseas too. Jones' family emigrated to Australia when he was young, and Mrs Lewis' mother was an English teacher at Beauxbatons. Neither have any children, so Hogwarts will be mostly new to them.'

It was very crafty indeed. Even if Granger had no ulterior motive, though I was quite sure she did, we could not entirely rely upon any loyalty she might feel towards Hogwarts.

Minerva sighed at length and removed her spectacles. She looked rather tired, and I will say that I felt slightly guilty, wondering if it was my fault. _My_ fault? It was the thrice-damned Ministry's fault!

'Is this not so very false, Severus? I mean, it won't be us during that week, not really.'

'I quite agree. It's like I've said all along, it's a mockery—a farce. But we'll play the game, Minerva, as we unfortunately must.'

'And what about the students, or the portraits, even? It could all go wrong so easily if someone decides to say something derogatory, or behave reprehensibly.'

I shook my head slowly. 'We cannot stop anyone from doing anything, Minerva. We'll just have to hope that they feel some pride in their school. And, well, I'm sure the inspectors are coming here with their eyes open—even Granger. They know what children are like.'

The corner of her mouth lifted. 'I've spoken to all my classes and told them that we would be rewarding very good behaviour during the inspection.'

'Bribery, Minerva? I'm surprised at you!'

' _I_ won't say anything horrible,' said Dumbledore's portrait, and he winked jauntily at us both.

'I know _you_ won't be saying anything,' I retorted briskly. 'I've scheduled for you to go in for restoration work during the inspection—maybe they'll accidentally paint your trap shut.'

It was a nice fantasy. No doubt his usual streams of consciousness would be even more pronounced than usual while I worked to keep the school afloat. He saw himself as a motivational speaker, now that his life was confined to two dimensions.

'I'm hurt, Severus.' Following that, he flounced from his frame.

I knew that I'd not made many friends of the students—to suggest otherwise was to exhibit, frankly, astonishing levels of delusion. Maybe this would be their chance for revenge. Well, there was nothing I could do about it—short of threatening them, and that probably wouldn't be conducive to achieving my overall aim.

* * *

If I'd thought meeting with my staff would prove trying, well then, I would have been right. My patience was sorely tried during those meetings, and I had to wonder how some of them had got to where they were. Take Horace for example. I had no issue with his ability to teach Potions—he'd taught me and done a good job, but dear Merlin, there were things about him that simply screamed incompetency.

'Welcome, Horace, please sit down. Now, I've examined your results for the past few years and we have nothing to worry about there.'

He actually preened.

'You forgot, however, to bring me your books—your accounts.'

He visibly stilled. 'You don't need them, surely?' He laughed in that false, nervous way he has.

'I assure you, I do.

'It's fine, dear boy, you know me...'

I put my fingers to my temples. 'Tell me, Horace,' I began, feeling irritated, 'tell me that you have been filling in your accounts—diligently recording all that you have spent and on what you have spent it on.'

'I might have become a little slipshod...' he mumbled quietly.

'For Merlin's sake, Horace! You know they will be scrutinising everything for any sign of incompetency!'

'Severus! Are you suggesting I'm incompetent?'

Yes!

'Just bring me your accounts right now, Horace. I'll fill them in as best I can to make them seem even remotely legitimate—cover up any _unexplained_ expenses...'

He blushed. Did he really think I didn't know he used school money to buy his drink when his own pocket was bare?

'You breathe a word of this to anyone, Horace...'

'I won't!'

I was off to such a good start—already I was agreeing to fiddle the flaming books!

'Hagrid, I assure you, you will most certainly not be exhibiting any of your illegal breeding ventures to the inspectors! Understand? You will stick to benign creatures during that week.'

Hagrid frowned, looking offended, but here was no room for offence, now.

'See this file, Hagrid?' I pointed to a fat folder stuffed with parchments. 'It's full of records of students that have been injured or maimed in your class. I do not want to have to deal with a student getting bitten, stung, or losing a limb while some halfwit is watching our every move. Are we clear?'

Clear as mud, probably.

'Sybill, Sybill, Sybill.' I sighed.

 _What the hell am I going to do with you?_

'How do you fancy an all expenses-paid trip to Scarborough? Minerva says the weather is lovely this time of year.'

She looked at me from behind those ridiculous glasses, the picture of confusion—her natural state, mind.

'What? No, no, I couldn't accept such a thing...'

'You won a competition, Sybill...'

'I think I would have foreseen such an event, Severus.'

Of course you bloody would have.

I tried to win her round to the idea, but when she found out the trip was during the inspection, she wouldn't hear of it at all. 'I'm so looking forward to having an observer in my classroom,' she gushed.

Had she forgotten what happened last time? Of course she hadn't—she was just a daft bat.

Another issue I was forced to encounter was Rolanda pushing for a pay-rise. When I told her of Minerva's idea about the sports and asked her if she would like to propagate it amongst the students, she said: 'Are you turning me into a Muggle P.E. teacher, Severus?'

She then demanded a pay rise, which I _told_ her I would authorise—but I knew that I would not. She already got enough money for showing a few kids how to get on a bloody broom and throw a few balls about!' _Try being me for a day!_ ' I nearly shouted at her.

I didn't even bother talking to Albert Binns. I don't think he even knew we were having an inspection. The Ministry were unlikely to sack him—ghosts don't get paid.

I told Irma Pince to make sure there was nothing too dodgy on the shelves of the library. I did not want a repeat of a few months back when a seventh-year boy had purposely left a Muggle pornographic magazine in amongst the Charms textbooks. I fancied I could _still_ detect Irma's blush.

In the weeks running up to the onset of our inspection the school was extremely busy. Or at least the teachers were. We tidied classrooms, and repaired anything that needed it. We took work down off the walls that had been there since the fifties, and put new displays up. I briefed the house-elves that while the inspectors were there we were only to have chips for dinner twice, not every day—a few salad bowls would be fine. Easing up on the selection of tarts for dessert would probably be a good thing, too. They looked utterly crestfallen when I left them.

During those weeks, I must admit to feeling rather uneasy. I'm not a worrier at all, by day, but by night, well, we are all at the mercy of our sub-conscious. I had such dreams that I could only hope were not prophetic.

Once, I dreamt I was showing Granger and her pals around the castle, and I imagined myself saying: 'Here's where the children undertake their detentions.' And then I'd shown them into a dungeon, pointing out an iron maiden and saying completely seriously: 'This is our most effective deterrent against bad behaviour. And see these manacles hanging on the wall? Put them in these for a few hours and you're sorted.'

I remember that dream ended with Granger performing a citizen's arrest on my person.

Another dream had Granger taunting me with the school budget, waving it in my face.

'Where's all the money gone, eh, Professor Snape? What have you done with it? Spent it on some rare books, have we? Bought yourself a nice bachelor pad on the south coast? Did you think no one would notice that Hogwarts is in the red?'

'It was all there when I checked five minutes ago!'

'I believe you, Professor—thousands wouldn't.' Her face twisted with scorn. 'Hogwarts is bankrupt, because of _your_ incompetency and your fraudulent ways!'

When I woke up after that one it was all I could do not to Floo straight to Gringotts.

There weren't always dreams where I ended up imprisoned, ostracised, or otherwise incapacitated. I remember one dream, or _vision_ , as I liked to call this one, where the whole school turned against Granger and her team and we chased them to Hogsmeade, bearing torches, pitchforks, and any implements available to hand, really. I recall the day following that dream to have been a particularly bright one.

Still, I couldn't help but notice that these imaginings might mean I was concerned about upcoming events. I was determined, though, that Granger would not succeed in unsettling me—by Merlin, she would not. These dreams were not the manifestation of a guilty conscience; my leadership of Hogwarts, since the end of the War, had so far endured without major issue or concern.

But, I considered there was still the possibility that I would get pinned down for _something_. After all, my past is contentious, and my obvious disdain of the Ministry had not endeared me to those that work there. Maybe they would like someone more amenable in the top job.

Hell, by recent developments they were probably grooming Granger for the post. Well, that would be a coup d'état for her and no mistake.

I knew I had the loyalty of most of my staff behind me, certainly I knew I could count on those with whom I'd worked with for many years. As for the loyalty of the students, well, that was another matter entirely. As long as there was no outright rebellion, then I would be happy.

* * *

The morning when Granger and her posse of busybodies would arrive was a particularly tense one. Most of the staff sat in quiet contemplation of their plates. Horace looked green about the gills, Minerva's lips were tightly pursed, and Filius looked like he was about to have a panic attack. Even the children seemed less boisterous than usual. The only person immune to the general atmosphere of doom was Poppy.

'I don't know what you're all worried about,' she commented, chomping her way through a mountain of scrambled eggs. 'My Infirmary is inspected every two years by Healers from St. Mungo's. At least _you lot_ can't be struck off for being negligent. You'll probably just get a slap on the wrist.'

I think I spoke for everyone when I muttered, 'Shut up, you old biddy!'

A short while later, after the bell had gone for lessons, I made my way into the Entrance Hall to meet the accursed delegation from the Ministry. Miss Granger, complete with her hair teetering precariously atop her head once more, passed through the doors first.

'Good morning, Professor Snape,' she said cordially.

'Miss Granger; I'm afraid the red carpet is out being cleaned—please accept my apologies.'

Her gaze hardened, but she simply turned to the figures standing dumbly behind her, proceeding to introduce me to each of her compatriots. I shook _their_ hands, of course.

'Well,' I said, hoping I didn't sound too insincere, 'welcome to Hogwarts. Where would you like to begin—I am, unfortunately, yours to instruct.' I smiled grimly, and possibly glared, as well, because Mrs Ivy Lewis suddenly couldn't look me in the eye. Granger, however, had no such difficulty.

'Perhaps you could give us a tour, Headmaster? Then, we will commence our duties after the morning break.'

I actually didn't mind the prospect of showing them around the castle. Maybe after dragging them from the dungeons all the way up to the Astronomy tower, and everywhere in-between, they'd be so knackered they'd fall asleep during afternoon lessons. The poor sod that had to sit through an hour with Binns' would probably be grateful, I decided.

My attempt at tour guide started off fairly well. No iron maidens were discovered in the dungeons, and thus I retained my liberty — always a plus. We stopped off in each of the classrooms to introduce everyone to the staff and students. I dreaded knocking on the doors and going in, afraid at that I might open a door to unbridled chaos. I had no qualms about entering Minerva's classroom. There was little risk of me going in there to discover she'd been locked in the store-cupboard, or to find hexes flying across the room. I don't know why I was imagining such things. There were always incidents, of course, but the students were generally well-behaved.

They had me to deal with otherwise.

It was as we traversed upwards that things began to unravel. It was the staircases. Jeremiah Jones looked a bit startled when the staircase we were on suddenly swung away from our destination.

'This is a bit dangerous, isn't it?' he enquired.

I sighed inwardly. 'Muggles have moving staircases, too—what's the difference?' I stated, a tad impatiently.

He only shrugged. Yes, that was a pat on the back for me, then.

Of course, it couldn't last, though.

Somewhere between the fourth and the fifth floor, there was a sudden scream. Mrs Lewis had fallen into a trick step. I turned to find her clinging onto the stair in front of her, only visible from the waist up.

'Oh dear Merlin, what has happened? I'm going to fall right through!'

'Mrs Lewis,' I said calmly. 'You will not fall right through—it is just a spell. If you will allow me...?' I motioned towards her arm and she nodded frantically. Jones moved to aide me, an act for which I was grateful as she was rather on the dumpy side. We hauled her back to her feet and she rounded upon me.

'Professor Snape, I must say, what on _earth_ was that?'

'A trick step,' I said, but she interrupted before I could elucidate.

'A trick step? You mean a joke?'

'It's just a quirk of the castle—even staircases need to have fun.'

She didn't appreciate my humour. 'A quirk?' she spluttered.

Granger stepped forward. 'Really, Ivy, it's nothing to worry about. As a student you get to learn where the trick steps are. That's why Professor Snape stepped over it.'

Oh, well I was grateful to her for pointing _that_ out! Guileless bint!

'My apologies, Mrs Lewis—it is second nature to me, but I should have remembered to forewarn you.' This was all the charm I could muster from my limited repertoire and it would have to do.

She sniffed. 'That's all right, Headmaster.'

I glared at Granger and carried on walking. From that point onwards she seemed to become infuriatingly chatty.

'I was never good at Divination,' she said, 'but I must say the classroom is a lovely one. You'll love it, Ivy.'

And then it was: 'The Hogwarts library has such an eclectic mix of books...'

In the end, when she started reciting what seemed like whole passages from _Hogwarts: a History_ , I was forced to ask, 'Just who is giving this tour, Miss Granger?'

Suitably chastised, she kept her comments to a minimum, but no doubt they'd be revisited upon me tenfold once were alone in my office. She was not the retiring type, after all. The prospect filled me with such dread that I longed to fall into a trick stair and remain there—indefinitely.

Appleby was wheezing by the time we got to the Astronomy tower, so I suggested we go to the staff room in time for the morning break. Following that they would commence their duties. Unfortunately, whilst we were walking through the cloisters, Jones turned to me.

'Headmaster, we haven't seen outside. Would you mind showing me to the Quidditch pitch?'

When the hell was I supposed to have my customary eleven o'clock cup of tea and plate of chocolate biscuits now? I swallowed a huff of irritation.

'Certainly—'

'I'll come,' piped up Granger.

 _Yay_.

The other two, clearly two people with their heads screwed on properly, opted to go and have a cup of tea. I led Jones and Granger out into the grounds and headed in the direction of the Quidditch ground. Jones was a youngish man, compared to Ignatius Appleby, anyway, and had joviality about him that I am apt to despise in people. He was no exception. And he was sports mad. As we trekked to the pitch, he regaled me with his failed career as a Quidditch chaser.

'Fell off my bloody broom I did during my first year as a reserve for the Cannons! Did my shoulder right in! Well, no Chaser who can't lift his arm higher than his chin is ever going to make it as a professional, eh?'

'No,' I muttered, trying hard to be civil.

He turned to Granger. 'I hear your friend Mr Potter was a menace on a broom, Miss Granger! How about yourself, are you partial to a bit of Quidditch, now and again?'

I glanced at her as she negotiated her absurd shoes through the soft grass.

'Oh, no, Mr Jones—I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground.'

I opened the gate, and we entered the stands and thence onto the actual pitch.

'What a marvellous ground!' Jones gushed. 'Traditional, full of character, and, oh, Headmaster—what is this?'

He looked at me with confusion and pointed at the group of sixth-year boys in the middle of the pitch. 'Are they playing Muggle football?' He looked impressed.

I held back a smirk. 'Oh yes,' I said smoothly. 'It's all about diversification, is it not? Well, our pitch is only used for Quidditch matches and practice; we thought it practical to make more use of the space. The students suggested some ideas—it's good to get them involved—and so it was decided a makeshift football pitch could be created. It's a simple charm, you know, to create the required lines on the grass.'

He nodded enthusiastically. 'And are there any other uses? I've always thought it a shame that we magic folk only have one major sport.'

I shrugged nonchalantly. 'I believe there was a Gryffindor versus Slytherin cricket match the other day. Plus, we have a separate space for tennis—'

'Good gracious, Professor Snape! Cricket? You must show me in due course, I— _oh_...'

The boys' football had trickled towards us, and Jones leapt on the spot with excitement. He pranced forward, nudging the ball with his feet, looking faintly ridiculous with his arms slightly raised as if to keep his balance on some invisible tightrope. He continued his manoeuvres right into the centre of the grass. 'Come on, then, boys, let's see you tackle me!'

There were simply no words. Granger and I just stood and stared.

Silence was not long in lasting, however.

'Diversification, eh, Professor? This is very novel.'

I should have known _she'd_ be suspicious. 'Your point?'

'Football has been known to foster a certain yobbish behaviour amongst Muggle men.'

Shit.

Think, Snape, think.

'Miss Granger, I did not take you for one to make sweeping generalisations. Are you seriously silly enough to suggest that if someone plays football they will inevitably turn out to be a yob?'

She frowned. 'No... I was just making a detached observation.'

'One without any empirical evidence I might add, and—'

A sudden shout of, 'Heads!' sounded from the melee on the Quidditch pitch. I spun round, instinctively stepping backwards as I did so, and thus avoided the football that came sailing through the air. Its trajectory was never towards me, however; in fact, before I could react further, it had thumped Granger on the head.

She yelped loudly and put a hand to the top of her head. I had to quickly bite my lip and look away. Her idiotic bun had been knocked sideways.

'Sorry, sir! Sorry, Miss Granger!' a meek call came from the middle of the pitch.

'Bradshaw!' I shouted. 'Five points from Ravenclaw for assaulting an inspector!' I considered I might give them back to him later.

I turned to Granger. 'My apologies; I thought you'd have the presence of mind to move out of the way in time.'

I didn't even say it in a mocking way; I was actually defending my hasty move to save myself. However, she glared at me, her cheeks stained pink.

I tried again. 'Are you all right? Shall I take you to Madam Pomfrey?'

'I'm fine. It was a football—not a boulder,' she spat, and she started trudging back towards the castle. I say trudge, it was more like stumble, what with the heels of her shoes sinking into the mud just so. Or stagger; yes, that one would do. She almost looked like she'd been at Horace's booze collection.

I smirked. Or maybe it was concussion.

Jones was still tearing about the Quidditch pitch like a whirling dervish, so I decided to follow Granger back to the castle.

In the space of two hours, I had one inspector on the verge of exhaustion, one who'd fallen through a staircase, one completely enamoured of a leather ball, and one who'd got thumped on the head by said leather ball.

All in all, it probably couldn't have gone _any_ better.

* * *

AN: :)


	3. Part Three

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 3**

The inspectors were finally in their first lessons, and, of course, lessons were the main thing—not Quidditch pitches or staircases—everything ultimately hinged on the standard of teaching. Hagrid had his first class with an inspector scheduled before lunch, so I had just under two hours to remain in blissful ignorance. Beyond that, what would happen I could not, did not, want to imagine. I was considering if there were any way I might spy on said lesson, when there was a knock on my door.

In walked Granger, sufficiently recovered from her earlier bash on the head. If only it _had_ been a boulder and then all my problems would have been solved.

This was the dreaded moment I'd been awaiting all morning. She approached my desk, and I surreptitiously covered the large pile of documents that had ' _Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Education_ ' emblazoned on them. They'd rather been a fixture upon my desk in recent weeks, but Granger didn't need to know how much research I'd done lately. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

As soon as she stepped into the office, it was, of course, 'Oh, Miss Granger! What a pleasure it is to see you again!' from Dumbledore.

I had no time for this.

'Yes, yes, it's all very lovely, Albus, but, if you don't mind, we have things to attend to.'

Granger looked like she was about to bristle, but Dumbledore did the decent thing for once and forestalled her. He informed her that they would speak later, and then he left us to it. Many of the other Headmasters and Headmistresses had also deserted their frames to give us some privacy.

'May I sit?' she asked.

'If you must.'

She huffed quietly and sat opposite me, looking for all the world like she belonged there. She was probably picking out furnishings as we spoke. Well, I'd be keeping my chair—she could buy her own.

'So,' I said sharply, 'shall I give you the keys to my desk and have done with it?'

'That's not what this is about.' She frowned slightly and carried on. 'The first thing I want to do is talk to you about the school.'

 _No_ —and here was me thinking she'd come to me about the rain we'd been having.

'What do you think about Hogwarts, Professor?'

'Is it possible for you to be even vaguer, Miss Granger? It is _Miss Granger_ , isn't it? I would hate to think that we'd caused you any irritation by addressing you incorrectly.' I raised an eyebrow in question.

She flushed bright red, and I admit it—I don't know why I mentioned it, and I probably shouldn't have. It would be a mistake to get very personal in my needling of her, and I just had.

'I'm sure you know very well I have ceased using the name Weasley.'

I did know very well. She bit her lip and looked for a moment like she was struggling to keep her composure, though whether to break down in hysterics or hurl abuse at me, I really couldn't say. Whatever it was, she managed to overcome it.

'You run the school. You must have some opinion on the subject, on performance, strengths, issues, or weaknesses. This report will be about establishing the school's ethos, and I'm interested in your point of view.'

My point of view— _my_ point of view! Why bother when it would mean bugger all!

I sighed inwardly to calm myself. It really would do no good to get angry—yet. I thought for a moment. _Ethos_... Another jumped-up term the Muggles liked to use. I decided to jump right in.

'My views on the subject are plainly these: I find it eminently _absurd_ that some parents are behaving this way. How many Muggle schools have traditions that go back well over millennia? Children come here to learn and they _do_ learn. Not even _you_ can argue that point. How can they criticise the school on rumour or past problems? Of course the school was unsafe when Voldemort was around—everywhere was unsafe! And, do you know what, Miss Granger? Do you know what should be applauded? Some of my staff has worked in this school for nigh on forty to fifty years. Can you comprehend how much potential there is for debilitating monotony when a person gets up, goes to the same room, and teaches the same material over and over again for decades? So much so that those actions could probably be done in one's sleep?'

Something flashed across her face that I couldn't quite place—a shadow of some sort, indicating that my words had had a personal impact. It was interesting that she paled slightly, but I was in no mood to draw her out on it.

'But I can tell you this, Miss Granger. The majority of my teachers are as enthusiastic and as committed as they were when they first stood in a classroom, and that is because they care.'

I only stopped talking because there was a look of mild surprise forming on her face. Merlin—had I just embarrassed myself by giving an impassioned speech in front of Hermione bloody Granger?

'Do _you_ care, Professor Snape?'

I blinked. What did it matter what I felt? Why should I explain myself to her? It... But, of course, I cared. Teaching... Running a school made me feel useful... It made me feel like I was doing something positive, something productive with my life... finally. I wanted to be successful at it. Maybe it was because I'd been doing it for so long, but I could not see myself doing anything else. And Hogwarts wasn't just a school; it was a home to many people, and always had been.

But I couldn't tell her any of this. I could not bring myself to say these thoughts aloud. Besides, why should I? Just because she'd made it her business did not mean that it actually was. In my mind it did not, anyway.

On the other hand, I could hardly reply negatively. To do so would have surely only served to sign my own dismissal from the post.

'I'm here, aren't I?' I raised an eyebrow at her, and, perhaps concerned that she might have divined my thoughts, I added another comment. 'Though, I'm still not quite sure why _you_ are.'

She lowered her gaze, but still she did not move to defend herself. I had to confess myself intrigued by that. Was it simply that she had no excuse for her unorthodox appointment? Or was it that she was afraid she might reveal something that indicated she had another purpose in being here? By the end of the week, come Sunday, I'd work it out somehow, I was sure...

She shifted in her chair and smoothed down her robes. 'Do you think Hogwarts has changed a great deal over the last few decades, Professor?'

Was she trying to say we were stuck in a rut?

'I am well aware education has to move with the times, Miss Granger.'

My sharp tone obviously registered with her, for she closed her eyes briefly in frustration. 'Please, stop taking offence at everything I say, Professor; I am merely playing devil's advocate here. I just want to hear what you think.'

Devil's advocate—my arse! And I had no doubt why she wanted to hear what I thought—so she could contradict me as much as possible when it came to assessing the evidence!

'How could it _not_ have changed?' I burst out impatiently. 'Teachers come and go. Potter, Voldemort, the war, Dumbledore, _me_... Hogwarts does not exist in a vacuum; if it did I should not be talking to you right now. Of course things have changed—people's attitudes change all the time. Even the students change over time.'

She nodded and there was a curious look upon her face. 'And where does that leave you, Professor?'

I clenched my jaw. 'Do you mean me, or the school?'

'The school, naturally.'

Oh, _naturally_. I was sure she meant me personally. 'Aren't you supposed to determine that?'

She nodded a fraction. 'I suppose so.'

 _And you'll take great pleasure in it, no doubt._

'Did you prepare the statistics I asked for?'

I reached into my drawer and handed her a file containing basic information about the school—its capacity in terms pupil numbers, staff numbers, and so on. She flicked through the file quickly, as if to ascertain everything was present and correct (like it wouldn't be!), but of course, one thing had to immediately jump out at her.

'Forty elves,' she murmured. 'I will want to see their contracts and detailed working guidelines, of course.'

'Oh, of course! We would not want you to be remiss in acting out your other duty as an official in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures—sabbatical or no sabbatical!' I smiled falsely.

Her eyes narrowed. 'I will be checking everyone's contracts—it's a matter of procedure.'

'Procedure, eh? Well, I for one, would never dream of standing in the way of _procedure_.'

I think I was fast becoming a burden upon her nerves. It was becoming more and more obvious that my sarcasm was bothering her—her eyes flashed continuously with irritation and her mouth hardened into a thin line of displeasure. Maybe she would crack before I did. It made no difference to me. She surely would have known what she was getting herself into when she agreed to this position. She really did have only herself to blame.

'There are two hundred and sixty-two students currently in attendance, divided more or less equally between the four houses.'

She certainly had a talent for stating the bleeding obvious. I wondered if she would pick up on the 'equally'. If she checked further back in time, she might notice a pattern that suggested that Hogwarts was extremely lucky in always being able to sort its students into four, neatly balanced groups. Well, that was a handy vagary of the Sorting Hat—she'd have to talk to _it_ about it.

'Is there a point to your musings, Miss Granger?' _I'm fast becoming bored of you_.

'Numbers seem to be down on the last three years.'

I really don't remember her being this dull-witted. 'Student numbers always fluctuate now and again. More often than not they will jump again, unless they all abandon us, of course.'

I glowered at her like it was her fault. A tad unreasonable of me, perhaps, but then, I am known for it. I heard her sigh quietly, and it was a sound I was used to hearing, because it signalled defeat.

'I'm sure you have things to do, so I will just look over these by myself. Do you have somewhere where I might be able to work?'

Hallelujah. Finally, I was free. 'You may stay here if you wish. I have business to attend to elsewhere in the school.' Surreptitiously placing a Locking charm on my desk – I don't trust Gryffindors as far as I can throw them, and Granger even less so – I stood to leave.

'Oh, and Professor Snape?' she called after me. 'I'd like you to organise a meeting for Thursday afternoon, if possible. I should like all Heads of Houses to be present, as well as Madam Pomfrey, and yourself, please. We will be discussing student welfare. If any other member of staff would like to present, then by all means they would be welcome.'

I was sure they would be biting my hand off to get into this exclusive little club.

'I will see to it,' I replied stiffly.

I left before she could ask me to rearrange the solar system, the bloody bossy wench. I stepped quickly down into the corridor and headed for one of the towers. I had a reason for getting out of my office when I did, and I couldn't have timed it better, really.

I was walking briskly along the fourth floor, just shy of outright running, when Rolanda approached me.

'Severus,' she began, but I cut her off.

'I can't talk now; I _must_ get to the West tower.' I stormed past her and she made a noise of indignation.

'Merlin, Severus!' she said loudly. 'It's only been a few hours. Has it gone _so_ bad that you are considering topping yourself already? At least give it a chance!'

I glanced back at her and the corner of her mouth lifted upwards in amusement.

'Piss off, Rolanda.'

I opened the door into the tower, cursing the female kind, and wended my way up the winding staircase. I did not go right to the top, but paused at the entrance to a balcony that ran around the turret halfway up. It afforded me a good view of the paddock where Care of Magical Creatures lessons were usually conducted. I rested my hands upon the cool stone and froze. As soon as I saw the wisps of dark smoke rising above the tree-tops, I raised my hands in disbelief and wondered whether I _should_ just end it all and throw myself off the tower. It would create a diversion, if nothing else.

'Hagrid,' I muttered to myself. 'In what _possible_ world does toning down your lessons equal a green light for creating a huge bloody bonfire?'

My hair suddenly whipped up around me as if to add: 'And in this wind, too!'

The third years looked like they practically had their faces pressed into the fire, and I could see them excitedly pointing out salamanders. I spotted Jones hovering nearby, and even from my lofty vantage point, he looked a little jumpy. Maybe he was dodging stray sparks, I don't know. I rather thought he was hopping about lest something get out of hand. I wondered if Jones knew Hagrid had little or no magical ability.

I sighed at length. There was really no point in me standing there. There was nothing I could do even if anything went awry—I could not intervene. I shouldn't even have been spying. If anyone saw me it would not reflect well on my supposed confidence in my staff. Forget all my earlier poeticism about teachers caring—many of them _were_ prone to bouts of laziness. But, I should at least try the right thing and just trust Hagrid. After all, he'd lectured about salamanders before and no student had ever ended up being comprehensively roasted then.

With one more glance at spectacle in front of me, I turned to go back inside the castle. As I descended, I shook my head.

No, it was not to be borne—trust was definitely overrated.

* * *

Lunchtime was a bit of an awkward affair. Our guests were dispersed along the staff table, and to my eternal consternation, Minerva had offered her usual chair to Granger. I'd wanted to be near Jones so I could attempt to wheedle some information out as to how Hagrid's lesson had gone. I was good at that sort of thing, after all. There was no way I could sustain eye contact with him while he was sat as far away from me as possible, though, and I had no wish for anyone to think I'd taken a fancy to him.

Appleby had been out in greenhouses with Pomona for the morning. Things had probably gone all right there. Mrs Lewis had been in Arithmancy, and seemed in deep discussion with Professor Vector, so things looked well there, too. Perhaps the irony of it was that all my staff would do well and I would be the one declared incompetent, if only for the fact that by the end of the week I might have at some point wrung Granger's neck.

I couldn't even talk to Minerva about my mishaps with the staircases and the football that morning. In fact, I was surprised she hadn't already upbraided me for the head-thwacking incident.

As it was, I determined to ignore Granger herself. Instead, I observed the students, keeping a watchful eye out for mischief. But they were fine. They were even rather quieter than usual. Inexplicably, I felt cross—why couldn't they always be this well-behaved?

I turned my attention to my plate, but I couldn't be arsed to eat. As a rule, I never spent long at lunch, but I could hardly just get up and go while Granger's busybodies were still stuffing themselves. They might get the wrong impression about me.

It was just another disruption to my usual routine that I would have to endure.

'Mr Jones said he had a wonderful lesson with Hagrid and the third years this morning, Professor Snape.'

I snapped my head round to Granger's so quickly that she flinched. 'He said _what_?'

'He said he enjoyed the lesson and that the students were really enthusiastic.' She picked up a sandwich and put it onto her plate. 'To tell the truth,' she said quietly, 'I was a little worried for Hagrid, but I think it went all right for him.'

I must say that I was rather surprised, and for two reasons, really. One, that Hagrid's lesson had not ended with an accident, injury, death, or just general catastrophe, and two, for a short moment I felt that Granger was on our side. I say a _short_ moment, and even that might be overstating the matter. Of course she was worried about _Hagrid_. She and Hagrid were chums; she would by no means want to see the half-giant be thrown from his job, and let's face it, if anything were to alarm the Muggles, then surely the prospect of a bumbling half-giant showing their children around a Hippogriff would feature highly on the list. It didn't mean she gave a fig about the rest of us though, did it?

I turned back to my plate, saying nothing. Oh well, she could have Hagrid as her deputy when she eventually ousted me. I shuddered. Now there was a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. So Hagrid had had a good lesson, well, I was relieved by that, but he would be having more lessons supervised. I would not hold my breath just yet.

I could feel Granger's eyes upon me as if she expected me to dignify her comment with a response. I resolutely ignored her. It was no good; I was already beginning to feel perpetually irritated and annoyed, and it had only been a few hours. I was sure I would not be able to contain myself all week. All I could be grateful for was that they were not staying at the castle overnight! At least I would have a few hours of respite each day.

I pushed my fork roughly into a piece of cucumber and stuffed it into my mouth. How I hated having to pander to a bunch of idiots, especially to a mere slip of a girl such as Granger.

How I hated salad, too.

All I could think was: _bring back the bloody chips_!


	4. Part Four

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 4**

Being Headmaster can be a surprisingly boring job at times; believe it or not, but it's true. Dumbledore used to keep a range of games in his desk to keep himself occupied throughout the day. Playing against oneself in a round of Gobstones can be pretty sad, I've found, so I leave those pastimes alone. I use my time in other ways.

Tuesday afternoon, for instance, I was having a quiet doze at my desk. It was a pleasant habit I'd developed. The hour between three o'clock and four o'clock was always incredibly tedious if all the tasks I had to do were complete. The re-invigoration brought on by lunch would wear off by then, and so began the slow countdown till four o'clock when I could leave the confines of my office without feeling guilty. With my feet on the desk, fingers laced across my stomach, and a cushion behind my head, it was tranquillity.

But of course, with busybodies roaming about the school, it was no wonder my afternoon siesta was to be short-lived. There came a brisk knock at the door.

'Come in,' I called, removing my feet and depositing the cushion in my bottom desk drawer. I groaned inwardly. 'Hello, Miss Granger. How are you faring this afternoon?'

One may be forgiven for thinking I actually gave a toss.

'Oh,' said she, and at my solicitousness there was a hint of surprise colouring her voice that pleased me. 'Well, Professor, I'm actually quite—'

'Yes, quite, Miss Granger; now, what can I do for you?'

She blinked, and then she scowled—that pleased me, too. 'I'm here to talk finance, Headmaster,' she said tightly. 'I wish to see your annual budget and your accounts, dating back to the last three years.'

Ah, this was the big one for me, then. It was one of my main jobs to keep the books balanced and the school afloat. While I was not hiding some big fraudulent scheme, I expected her to pull me up and start lecturing me on resource management, or saving money, or some such other exercise. Though, when she gained her experience in economics, I didn't know—probably while she was acquiring her teaching experience.

She sat down in front of my desk, while I stood up and approached a filing cabinet. I proceeded to slap three files down loudly in front of her, dust rising up off them in short bursts. 'These are the budget allocations for the last three years.' I threw down another three files. 'This is the income and expenditure for the last three years.' And this was the best bit. I opened a new drawer. 'Here are the books for the last three years for Care of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions (I made sure not to falter, there—Horace, be damned!) and the library, which all have special provision.'

Granger was looking faintly sick at the sight of so many bursting files filled with parchments and receipts.

'And here are the records of expenses for the rest of the curriculum, which command lesser resource allocation.'

I placed the last files slowly and carefully onto the teetering pile in front of her. It wouldn't have done for them to have collapsed all over her, now, would it?

'Is that all?' she asked hopefully.

'Quite.' I nodded and clapped my hands together briskly. 'Well, Miss Granger, I'm afraid duty calls. I promised I'd look in on choir practice today—it's important to show ones face, is it not? Enjoy your reading.'

She looked momentarily taken aback, but I made sure I was exhibiting such disarming sincerity that she only nodded in agreement. 'Of course; I'm fine here.'

'Excellent.' I swept gratefully towards the door.

Choir practice? As if I had any inclination to listen to a bunch of tone deaf miscreants trying to string together a tune! It was bad enough having to sit through their warbling during the Sorting ceremony! I just didn't want to be there when she started analysing Horace's accounts. I'd tidied them up as best as I could, but I could not remove all the discrepancies.

Besides, choir practice wasn't even scheduled for today. It was a risky game to play—no doubt she'd uncover my duplicity, but, well, I didn't care. It was for her own good. She'd already managed to annoy me to high heaven this morning when she'd grilled me on contracts.

'It's not just about student welfare, you know, it's about staff welfare, too,' she'd said, talking to me like I'd just come out of the womb.

She'd gone on and on and _on_ about working hours and pay conditions that, in the end, I'd simply had to interrupt.

'You want to make sure I don't overwork my teachers and staff? That I don't run them into the ground until they are burnt out?'

'In a manner of speaking...'

No bloody consideration about whether _I_ was being driven into the ground, was there? Who gave a shit if the Headmaster was overworked? No one! I decided I should flake out over the High Table with exhaustion one day – headfirst into my cornflakes – that would teach them!

'Surely, you should be asking _them_ if they feel overworked and so forth. Furthermore, the Ministry is responsible for employment specifications and obligations, not me—take it up with them.'

Thwarted once again, she'd merely ground her teeth together and ignored me for the remainder of the morning. I couldn't help my churlishness. Merlin, it was every time I looked at her that I felt such burning resentment. The sooner the week was over, I considered, the better.

I couldn't hide from her forever, though, and unless I found a legitimate purpose for wandering the castle hallways, I would have to go back to my tower and face the inevitable new barrage of interrogatives. I expected she would say, 'Oh, Professor Snape, why don't you save some money here by buying cheaper parchment?' ad infinitum.

Hogwarts had a healthy enough bank balance and that would be my perpetual refrain when dealing with her _such_ well-informed observations. At that point, I spotted Jones coming towards me down the corridor. His face split into a smile.

'Ah, Professor Snape, I have been looking around the castle this afternoon—seeing all the places where the students spend their free time.'

The Australian twang in his voice only added to his ineffable joviality, and thus he grated upon me even more whenever he spoke. I only nodded in recognition.

'Of course, one cannot deny that the grounds are wonderful—plenty of opportunity for the children, and the gardens are so well-kept!'

'It's very much a division of labour, Mr Jones.' I said, walking with him. 'There are many of us who take responsibility for the gardens, from myself to O.W.L. level Herbology students.'

'I see, I see. The library is excellent, too. There are lots of quiet places for students to study to their hearts content.'

'We are very proud of our library, indeed.'

'And it is used often by students?'

Ah.

'Well, we encourage its use. Homework is often set upon a reading only obtainable from the library, but there are students who are more enthusiastic than others, of course.'

Jones chuckled. 'No doubt about it, Headmaster. Isn't that always so?'

I was blessed, suddenly, with an epiphany. 'Perhaps, Mr Jones, you would like me to show you the common rooms?'

It was definitely a legitimate cause with which to avoid Granger, and we hadn't spent money on new furniture for nothing.

'Certainly, Professor.'

I regretted my offer, however, when, as we made our way to Gryffindor Tower, he turned to me and said: 'Oh, I'm having a bit of a kick-about with the seventh-years before dinner—would you like to join us?'

It was all I could do not to stop in my tracks and simply look at him as if to say: 'Are you quite insane?' For my own part, I was quite sure he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but in the end, I merely declined his offer as politely as I could.

'I have an old back injury from playing rugby, you see,' I explained lightly.

He gasped. ' _Rugby_? But when did you get involved with that? I had no idea!'

I wanted to say that I used to play while in the Death Eaters, but that would be going too far, even for me. It's not that I'm a compulsive liar—I just can't help being rather adept at subtle teasing. I probably shouldn't have teased him so, but it was an interesting diversion, nonetheless.

* * *

Granger was only just getting round to examining Horace's accounts by the time I returned to my office. What precipitous timing I had! When I sat back down at my desk, she removed the parchments from within the folder and spread them out before her. I felt so apprehensive that I, rather absurdly, snatched one of the pages.

'I was using that parchment!' she stated in some surprise, pointing at the offending sheet with her ridiculously flamboyant quill.

'Well, I am using it for the moment—I do have work to attend to, you know. You were clearly examining last year's figures, actually, when I commandeered this page.'

' _I_ was using it first!'

Possibly, the amount of utterly boring facts and figures she'd been trawling through all afternoon had made her more antagonistic than usual. It amused me.

'You have not used it for the past five minutes, so now I'm using it.' I think my coolness towards the situation infuriated her.

She pulled the parchment towards her. 'Just do a copying charm if you need it so badly.'

' _You_ do a bloody copying charm!' I snatched the parchment back, purely on the principle of the thing.

' _No_!' She grasped at the page again, but I held on tightly at just the most inopportune moment.

'Oh well done, Granger—you've bloody ripped it now!'

She huffed and ran her wand along the rip. Then, she purposefully put it out of my reach. I wondered if she would connect my reluctance in handing her the sheet to the fact that it was one of the more dodgier recordings of Horace's profligacy with the Potions budget.

Then I remembered she was Hermione sodding Granger—of course she'd notice.

Meanwhile, she was glaring at me. ' _You_ ripped it—it was hardly my fault, you insufferable man!'

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Suddenly, I was alert. This was it—she'd actually retaliated. I stared at her and my lip curled. I had to escalate the situation—in doing so, I hoped to lure her into revealing something, and that something would, hopefully, be her true purpose for hounding me thus.

' _I'm_ insufferable?' I drawled. 'This is rich coming from a personage such as yourself, whom I'd venture to allude to as the most insufferably glorified quill-pusher the Ministry has ever produced.'

Merlin, that over-sized topknot on her head quivered indignantly with every movement she made—as she bristled, so did that bloody bun.

'I'll thank you not to refer to me in such a way!' she retorted angrily, full of offence.

Oh, I'd hit a sore spot there.

'Why—will it go down in the report that the "Headmaster called me a glorified quill-pusher"?'

'I'm not a quill-pusher!' she burst out adamantly, sounding faintly like a petulant child. But there was almost a hollow note to her voice that made me wonder if she didn't quite believe her own words. So she did have an element of self-awareness about her, then.

A curious look had taken across her face as she looked at me; it was a mixture of frustration and confusion.

' _Why_ are you so annoyed by me, Professor? You're practically jovial with everyone else!'

I almost blinked. Jovial? When the deuce had I ever been _jovial_? I leant forward and decided to tell her exactly why she annoyed me.

'I am annoyed by overpaid bureaucrats who do nothing more than fill in forms and tick boxes! Is that why you are here, Granger? Set your sights higher than a desk in the Department for Magical Creatures? I bet you jumped at the chance to take on this lofty position, didn't you? Did you offer to get rid of me for them?'

I hadn't intended to ask her that directly, but there it was. She looked at me in some surprise. I admit, my voice had risen, and I was sure I was staring at her with a countenance of steel.

'You are paranoid,' she said quietly, and a little uncertainly.

I chuckled dryly. 'I am not paranoid.' Unfortunately, I completely disqualified that statement with my next words: 'Did you all decide to make up that guff about parents not wanting to send their children here?'

I cursed myself inwardly, but outwardly remained firm.

She, however, sprang resentfully to her feet. I feared her bun would launch itself from her head; such was the ferocity of her movement.

'How can you think that of me?'

'You're saying this is not a whitewash, then?'

'It's in the Ministry's interests for Hogwarts to appear in the best light possible!'

'Ah! That's as maybe, Miss Granger. I, however, am _not_ in their best interests! Do you think they really wanted me to continue as Head of Hogwarts? They only agreed to it because they felt they owed me.'

'So they've roped me in to facilitate your removal?'

'You tell me. It seems to me a convenient opportunity for them.'

I frowned. She looked visibly upset, and it appeared that I was to be in for it, for her eyes narrowed ominously with impatience.

'I'll tell you the truth of the matter, shall I, Headmaster? Maybe then you will rethink your perspective. I was on secondment at the Department for Education when I heard about the difficulties facing Hogwarts. And I assure you, Professor, there _are_ difficulties.'

Her voice hardened a fraction, as did her expression.

'Picture this for me, if you will. Imagine, you have one child that does not come here for his education, and then the parents of another child, who also have doubts, find out about this and subsequently think, "Oh, maybe I don't have to send my child to Hogwarts, either!" I know, I know—you are thinking, "Not every child can be home-schooled! And who would not want to learn magic?" But what if _another_ magical school were to exist in Britain?'

She paused momentarily. 'You may very well suggest that the magical population is too small to sustain two different schools, and you would be right, to some extent. Still, what if some industrious witch or wizard or _Muggle_ decides to give it a go? Maybe it doesn't have to be a boarding school—a sticking point for many parents. Maybe it can afford to pay better wages for its staff. Maybe it decides to be completely revolutionary and offer a mix of Muggle and Magical education!'

She nodded to her herself. 'And now you're thinking, "What self-respecting witch or wizard would forsake Hogwarts for that?" Well, and this is the most alarming thing, what if this hypothetical school becomes a refuge for Muggle-borns? First generation half-bloods who want to retain a measure of their Muggle heritage? It would be a complete disaster—a _thousand_ steps back!'

I freely admit she rendered me rather speechless (it does happen occasionally). Who knew that Hermione Granger had such an air of Prophet of Doom about her? Was that really what the future held for Hogwarts? It was a worst-case scenario, surely?

She breathed shakily and continued. 'I care about this school as much as you do, sir. Why do you think I am here? _This was all my idea in the first place_!'

There was undeniable triumph in her voice as she revealed that little snippet.

' _Your_ idea?' I asked, feeling faintly aghast. She had devised the whole thing?

'Yes, _mine_!' she repeated vehemently. 'That's why they let me be in charge, because I set it all up! It was the only thing I could think of that would appeal to the Ministry, who were becoming restless about the growing situation.'

Well, in hindsight, I should have deduced it: her handiwork was written all over it. But... She was right; I _was_ paranoid, and to a certain extent my judgement of the situation had been clouded.

'I want everyone to see Hogwarts at its best, and I don't want to see _anyone_ lose their jobs! I've not been given any directions to catch _you_ out! Have you considered that the Ministry might have no problem with your leadership?'

I looked away. No, I hadn't.

She was flushed, and she put a hand to head as if embarrassment at her outburst was catching up with her. Then, she was on her feet and stalking across the office, her infernal shoes stamping in noisy anger on the flagstones. I could only sit there, utterly still. They say there is a first for everything, and this was one I could now add to the list—I'd just been comprehensively _told_ by Hermione Granger, the girl who was about to flee from my office in a fit of pique just as students would leave their last lessons of the day. Yes, it was certainly very possible that I'd made a mess of this one.

If there's one thing I really hate (and I hate many things), it's being wrong.

Try as I might, I simply can't abide it.

But there was no time to dwell on my misjudgements, for while she had her hand on the door handle, she hadn't turned it. What had she paused for? She seemed frozen to the spot.

I was a little unsure as to how to proceed. If what Granger had said was the truth, and I was inclined to believe that it was, then things looked rather different. It appeared to me that I should try to talk to her and come to some sort of resolve as to where we both stood on matters. That she held the interests of the school above any personal gain changed things. Still, a part of me continued to wonder whether she held any designs on the school herself, but then, I find distrust comes to me very easily. That is why I was not sure about her assertion that the Ministry had no desire to get rid of me. Perhaps they hoped to use her to that end with her unknowing, and possibly, by antagonising her so I'd started playing into their hands.

Therefore, while I could not fully engage with Miss Granger's purpose, I decided I could, _should_ , give her the benefit of the doubt (for a time).

I started to rouse myself into offering some reparation for my previous behaviour, and I stood up to approach her, entirely unsure of what to say. As I did so, she turned around to face me. She looked deflated and slightly stricken. Had I really upset her that much? It wasn't as if I'd never insulted her before.

'You're right, you know,' she said with quiet defeat, glancing away from me. 'I _am_ a glorified quill-pusher.' She bit her lip and nodded almost to herself. 'I am... I sit at my desk and fill in forms, and tick boxes, and meet targets, and...' - she breathed deeply - 'I _hate_ it.'

She shook her head quickly and gave a short burst of self-deprecating laughter. 'I do—I hate my job!' Her eyes shimmered as she glared at me as if I were responsible for her disaffection.

'I had so many aspirations when I took that position in Ministry. I had ideas; I wanted to make a difference—put my mark on the world! Each time I took a suggestion to my supervisor he would find some excuse for putting off dealing with it. 'Oh, Miss Granger, we have a backlog of paperwork to deal with on that Hinkypunk problem!' or, 'Here's a report for you to write on the gnome infestation in Shropshire!' Why do you think they volunteered my services to cover illness at the Department for Education? They wanted a break from my incessant prodding against the status quo!'

For my own part, I could only stand there and wonder if I were about to witness some sort of breakdown.

Her face twisted. 'Ron would sniff at me and say that I had done more during those last months of the war than most would do in a lifetime, that I should be grateful for a bit of tedium! And this leads us to the best bit—here I am, twenty four years old, and the only notable thing I've achieved is divorce!' She laughed sardonically, and as an aside, added: 'No, I certainly hadn't reckoned on that—I was so _stupid_.'

I wasn't about to contradict her. Throwing herself into a double-wedding with Potter and Ginevra Weasley was probably the most impulsively idiotic action I'd seen in a very long while. Potter had even had the unmitigated gall to invite me. Naturally, I'd respectfully declined; well, I'd declined, at least.

'You talk about debilitating monotony sir; well, let us say that I've made a special study of it.' She sighed and looked away. 'And I don't know why I'm telling you all this.'

Neither did I, really.

I raised my shoulders slightly in a sign of nonchalance. 'I just have one of those faces, I suppose.'

She stared at me and stilled. Then, she burst out laughing—almost cackled, in fact. Were I of a more sensitive disposition, I might have been offended by the potency of her amusement. When her chuckles had subsided, she sighed again and wiped at her eyes. 'Merlin, I haven't laughed that hard in a while.'

'I'm glad you are able to have such fun at my expense.'

'On the contrary, Professor Snape, I think you'd make a wonderful counsellor.'

It was good to know I had another potential career open to me, just in case things did go tits up here.

'You know, Miss Granger, if your only regrets are those which you have mentioned, I must say that you are extremely lucky.'

Her expression sobered and she lowered her gaze for a moment. 'I know they may seem rather trifling...'

'Not so much that, but I am sure that one day you will overcome them. Are you not already embarking on a potential new career? Will you not make a difference by helping to ensure Hogwarts' longevity?'

She clasped her hands together and took a few steps towards me. 'And will I make a difference, Professor Snape? You baulked at my inexperience, and it's true, I have never stepped into a classroom in any other capacity than a student. What credibility have I? I stupidly came here hoping to mask inexperience through manner and appearance, and it means nothing.'

As she spoke, she put a hand to the back of her head and tugged. It took, in fact, several tugs before her hair was sprung lose from it's preposterous prison to hang voluminously about her shoulders. She looked... Well, it struck me for the first time since I beheld her tramping up the lawns two months ago that she actually looked like Hermione Granger, or the Hermione Granger that I remembered, anyway. She kicked off her shoes and pointed her wand at them. The heels shrunk considerably.

She was rather a short-arse without those absurd shoes of hers. I merely raised an eyebrow at her antics.

'My feet have been killing me in those.'

I said nothing. I was not about commiserate with her over the state of her feet. I suppose it was something to be grateful for, though. She would no longer be strutting about the castle sounding like she'd recently been shod at the nearest blacksmith.

'You talk of credibility, Miss Granger, well, I suggest you find some,' I said flatly. 'I may have found this situation distasteful, but I know that worse awaits if your little experiment fails and the Ministry decides to take matters solely into their hands. Their incompetency knows no bounds, after all.'

I turned on the spot and returned to my desk, sitting back down, while realising, of course, that I'd practically just given my endorsement for what I'd previously deemed a farce or charade. I still rather thought it a farce, but it was a farce I was going to have to partake in with more sincerity.

'You chose to take this task on, and I assure you, Miss Granger, that I will not allow for any failures on your part. Indeed, I _cannot_ allow it.'

It was true. What did it matter what state the school was in if she and her team were not competent enough to assess it adequately?

'I know what I am doing, Professor Snape, even if not everyone believes it of me.'

I considered that she may be a novice, young, and by my own appellation, a glorified Ministry quill-pusher, but there was no supposing that Hermione Granger could not turn her mind to many things. It was possible that she did know what she was doing, and I supposed that regardless of her purpose, or the final outcome, I could not find any reason to doubt her commitment. She had her pride after all. She would not want to be branded a failure, especially since there was scope to suggest that she, in whatever small way, already thought herself such.

'Shall you continue with the accounts, then?' I nodded towards the files splayed across my desk.

She approached her chair, and breathed in softly. 'Yes, of course,' she replied, smiling faintly.

She sat down and I watched her for a few moments. 'I have a last word of advice for you, Miss Granger, should you like to hear it.'

A wary expression stole across her face, but she nodded affirmatively.

'Were I you, I should get down on bended knee each night and give thanks for the fact that I am no longer Mrs Ronald Weasley.'

Her eyes widened a fraction and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly in amusement, but her expression was eminently wistful. I did not know the details of her separation from Weasley, but I felt scornful of the fact that she might be pining for him yet. It was rich of me, I know. After all, what did I _not_ know about such yearnings? And I suppose that is precisely why I scorned it.

But, it was none of my business, and neither did I want it to be. She was here to do a job, and my only concern was that she would do it right. What did it matter to me what awaited her once this inspection was over?

Absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading : )


	5. Part Five

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 5**

Wednesday morning dawned dull, grey, and wet—it almost made my heart light to see it. Mr Jones, of course, lamented at length when he arrived that day—worried that the weather would spoil the upcoming Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I assured him a bit of rain wouldn't put anyone off. We were in Scotland, for crying out loud; if we allowed the rain to dictate our plans, we'd never get anything done!

I was glad for the bad weather. At least he wouldn't be asking me to go out and have a game of football with him. As for the Quidditch match, well, I was only glad it wasn't Gryffindor versus Slytherin—tensions were always fraught during the run up to such a fixture. As it was, I had only had to deal with a few small incidents of hexing. There'd been no full-blown scuffles in the corridor, something for which I was on the lookout.

Following breakfast that dreary morning, Minerva led Appleby to her classroom for her first inspected lesson of the week. I rather thought she was put out that she had been relegated so far down the schedule, but I wisely held my inferences to myself, or, at least, stored them away for airing at a later date. Ignatius Appleby was an all right sort of man, it seemed, athough, I'd had very little conversation with him, in fact. It was something I'd have to rectify, as his opinion, I'd venture to suggest, would be the most respected. I'd trust his word over Granger's—put it that way.

As for Granger, well, I was now a little unsure as to what to make of her. Already, she was less annoying, simply because she'd turned up that morning minus her clod-hopping shoes. I wasn't sure if I actually missed that bun of hers or not, though. It had furnished me with a few moments of amusement, after all.

She'd eventually got around to finishing off the accounts yesterday, following her sombre railing against the injustices of, well, her crap job at the Ministry, for lack of a better word. I had sat there silently, occupying myself with some research—I'd decided it was probably best for me to say as little as possible during those encounters. Admittedly, I was doubtful as to how well I would be able to carry that vow through. I was making an effort, however.

As expected, when she had closed the last file, she informed me that there were a few points she wished to address.

'You're wondering about the large payments I have been making into a Swiss bank account?' I'd asked, mainly as a delaying tactic.

She'd only laughed. 'No, oddly enough, I must have missed those.'

Had she missed anything else? I wondered.

She told me that the finances appeared to be generally sound, and there were no particular issues with budget management.

 _Apart from Potions_ , I'd added silently to myself.

'Apart from Potions, that is,' she'd stated aloud. 'There were some unexplained expenses on Professor Slughorn's account, and I'm not sure that all the bills are there from the Apothecary.'

It was time for some Slytherin guile—sorely _lacking_ in Horace's case.

'There are, indeed, some unexplained expenses, Miss Granger, but I assure you, I am quite confident they are not nefarious. Horace is simply a little... scatter-brained, shall we say. A few mislaid receipts, and so on.'

She'd contemplated for a moment. 'I would have to report it if he were found to be misappropriating funds in any way, but considering that the discrepancies are small, and that Potions is still existing within its means, I see no immediate cause for concern. I'm sure you will see that he is more conscientious towards money matters in the future.'

He would certainly not be using the money to fund his bloody Slug Club any longer, I knew that much. I would definitely be keeping a closer eye on him, even if it meant taking on his accounts myself—it's not as if I didn't have any experience with them, after all. No doubt he would probably thank me for it, anyway, lazy article that he was.

'Certainly,' I said out loud.

I'd been surprised, however, when that had been all she'd said on the matter of the finances.

'What—no homily on efficiency savings?' I'd asked dryly to mask my surprise.

She'd save it for the report, she said. Ah, yes, _that_. Well, I'd be certainly looking forward to getting my hands on that document, wouldn't I? Couldn't bloody wait. I only hoped that she would employ some sort of editor to cut out the crap, otherwise it would take me weeks to read if her lengthy essays as a student were any indication.

Still, I felt slightly less resentment whenever I laid eyes on her, as I did then, when, as I left the Great Hall after breakfast, I spied her bushy head examining the hourglasses in the Entrance Hall.

'Well, Miss Granger,' I said. 'What is on your agenda for today?' _What trials and tribulations will I have to endure?_

She spun round on the spot. 'Oh, I'm actually intending to speak to Mr Filch this morning.'

I made a pitying sound of disappointment.

'Yes, I'm sure you will miss my company,' she remarked wryly.

'Whatever do you need Argus for, anyway?'

I was interested despite myself. It was possibly a redundant question, really, but I felt there was little purpose in engaging the crusty old caretaker. He would probably treat her as one would a bad case of gout.

'I need to learn a bit more about his duties, and I have a few questions to ask him about the maintenance of the castle.'

I must say, she looked positively thrilled at the prospect. When she made no move to depart her post by the hourglasses, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

'Have you forgotten where his office is?'

'Er, no…' she mumbled.

I smirked inwardly. 'Have courage, Miss Granger. Argus doesn't bite… much.' I thought I perhaps owed her a smidge of useful advice, and so I added: 'For the love of Merlin, do not mention Mrs Norris when you talk to him.'

She frowned. 'Passed on, has she?'

'Yes, she's _passed on_ , as you so delicately put it, four years ago—'

' _Four_?'

'The wound is still fresh, Miss Granger,' I said solemnly.

She nodded in all seriousness. 'No, of course, you're right. Thank you; I'd best be off, then. I will see you at lunch.'

With that, she slowly moved towards the stairs in search of the caretaker. I wasn't sure who to pity more, Argus or Granger.

Perhaps Granger, but no one would never get me to admit it out loud.

* * *

Horace was looking pretty grim when I entered the staff room shortly before the morning break. I was pouring a cup of tea and arranging my biscuits onto a plate, when I noticed he was glancing longingly at the cabinet where the drink was kept.

'It's not even midday, Horace; don't even think about it.'

He looked at me with mild outrage, but I knew that that was what he'd been looking at and thinking of—he had all the subtlety of a first-year Gryffindor at times.

I ignored his offence. 'What's happened? You look like your favourite cauldron has just melted.'

I threw myself into a chair and stared at him. He looked for a moment like he was not going to tell me. He merely shrugged his shoulders dispassionately, as if to say it was of no matter. I bided my time, knowing he would snap eventually.

He did.

'Mrs Lewis found out about my Slug Club and I don't think she was very impressed,' he moaned. 'She said it was discriminatory!'

'Heaven forefend!' I affected indignation, but I'd anticipated something of the sort to occur over the issue of his club. I dipped a biscuit casually into my tea.

Horace scoffed. 'You were never enthusiastic about the club, Severus. You only agreed to join when Miss Evans did.'

I froze mid-dip and glared at him. He, however, carried on unaware of his faux-pas.

'What will I do, Severus, if I'm shut down? All of my forged connections! I mean—' He cut himself off, biting his lip and shaking his head as if unable to comprehend the possibility.

He could be a self-serving old git at times. I scowled as half of my forgotten biscuit, immersed in my tea, crumpled into the bottom of my cup. 'What else did Mrs Lewis say, then?'

'She's a cold old battle-axe!' he said admonishingly. 'She told me such blatant favouritism was unacceptable! Will I have to disband, Severus?' he asked mournfully. 'I've got the Minister for Magic's grandnephew as a member, for Merlin's sake!'

'The child is _twelve_ years old, Horace—'

At that moment, Granger came flouncing into the room, looking rather harassed. Before she could speak, however, Horace was entreating her over his precious bloody club.

'Speak to Mrs Lewis for me, will you, Miss Granger? The Slug Club is only a hobby, it—'

'Horace,' I interrupted. 'The issue of your club will be added to our list of priorities—at the bottom.'

He scowled at me and got to his feet. 'I'll fight this all the way, Severus!' He marched from the room, and I resisted the urge to sigh.

Granger flopped down in a nearby chair, but I ignored her and turned my attention to spooning the remnants of my digestive from my tea.

'I think I've upset Mr Filch,' she said after a moment during which she'd only watched me silently.

I did sigh this time. 'How did you manage that, pray tell?'

'I mentioned Mrs Norris.'

Was she a dunderhead in disguise? I clattered my spoon down noisily on my plate. 'Forgive me, I thought I'd told you precisely _not_ to mention said animal?'

She rubbed a hand over her face in an irritated fashion. 'I know, but there was a photo of her, and he's so frustratingly glum—I could hardly get any sense out of him. I just thought I'd mention the death of my own cat—'

I waved my hand as an indication for her to stop. 'You thought you could _bond_ with Argus Filch over your dead cats?'

Oh, the idealism of youth.

'I just mentioned that getting a new cat might help—'

'A _new_ cat? Oh, well done. The last time someone suggested that, he fell into a depression for several weeks!'

'Yes, all right, I put my foot in it!' she admitted shortly. 'I'm sorry; I just thought I ought to let someone know.'

With that, she also got up and stalked out of the room—an action, it seemed, I was going to have to get used to. I thought then that she must be rather pissed off, but when she did not come to the Great Hall for lunch, I wondered that it could not be solely down to Argus. Indeed, Argus didn't seem unduly upset when I saw him in the Hall. He muttered angrily for several moments at me about "the Granger girl," and then shuffled off to his place at the end of the table. There was neither sight nor sound of the aforementioned Granger girl, however. Minerva, of course, seemed to think it was automatically my fault that Granger was nowhere to be seen.

'Where is she, Severus?' she demanded, after ten minutes had elapsed and Granger's seat remained empty. 'What have you done with her?'

I turned disbelieving eyes upon her. 'What have I _done_ with her? Oh, I remember—I have her chained her up in one of the dungeons. Perhaps you'd like to join my little harem I have growing down there?'

' _Severus_ —'

'For your information, Minerva, I have only seen Miss Granger briefly this morning. Believe it or not, but we are not yet at the stage in our relationship where we keep Tracking spells on one another!'

'All right, all right,' she hissed. 'I'm sorry I bloody well asked!'

I jabbed my fork into my salad. 'She's a grown woman, she—'

'But what if she's fallen down some stairs? Got lost in the dungeons, hmm?'

'Minerva, she probably just lost track of time.' _Stop being such a fussy old mother hen._

Seeing that she'd get no sense out of me, she turned to converse with those on her other side. After a short while, she turned back to me and said, 'Mr Jones said he saw some students showing her into Gryffindor Tower, and Pomona saw her entering the library sometime later on. That is no doubt where she is.'

I clutched my chest and closed my eyes for a moment. 'Oh, thank Merlin.'

She only huffed at me in disgust. I didn't mind. It was sometimes a challenge for me to see how many annoyed huffs I could elicit from her in one day. One time, I annoyed her so badly that she ended up drawing her wand on me, but the less said about that, the better.

I was a little intrigued, of course, by Granger's absence. Following her interview with Argus, it sounded like she'd used her time _most_ efficiently by nosing about the castle. She struck me as someone who was rather nosey.

In fact, I shouldn't have been surprised to go back to my office, at some point, and find her nosing about up there.

She could look out, if I did.

* * *

'Hello there, Professor Snape!'

I very nearly jumped. After all, one does not expect to be greeted so loudly and enthusiastically while skulking about the Forbidden Forest. Well, I wasn't skulking, as such, but I realised that it might appear so to he who had spotted me.

'Mr Appleby,' I said, stepping into the clearing near the edge of the forest where the old man stood. 'We have not taught Transfiguration in the forest for many years, you know.'

He laughed congenially. 'I am not lost, no. I just had some free time before dinner and I thought I'd come down here. I used to come in the forest a lot during my time as a teacher here—I've always liked the place.'

I nodded. 'It's a pleasant place in which to walk, I find. I've been to check up on certain plants that I cultivate for use in potion-making.'

I didn't want him thinking I'd been up to anything dubious—I lend myself rather well to that interpretation, after all.

We walked back towards the edge of the forest, and he questioned me on the state of the forest, the creatures living within it, and so on. He knew all about the risks, of course, so there was no point in me playing down the danger the forest posed to students.

He didn't need to know about Hagrid's giant brother taking up residence in the heart of the forest, however.

'We don't sugar-coat it,' I said. 'We inform the students that if they wander in there unaided, they _will_ die. The faces of the first-years are always a picture at that.'

'I never went within fifty yards of the place when I became a student here,' commented Appleby with a chuckle. 'Actually, I've never gone very deep into the forest.'

'Probably for the best,' I remarked, hopefully not too cryptically.

I was hoping he might make a comment about Minerva's lessons that morning—give me potential ammunition, but alas, he said nothing. Mind, I did not expect he would have had anything derogatory to say, anyway. Maybe I'd make something up when I saw her.

We parted ways once we left the forest. Appleby was going to see Hagrid, and I was going back inside. It was as I made my way back up to the castle that I happened to notice her. Granger, of course, making a nuisance of herself on the shoreline of the lake. I had not seen her since that discussion about Argus, and I should not have bothered myself with this occurrence, were it not for the fact that she was clearly idling away her time when she should be preoccupied with other things. Unless, of course, she was taking things to an extreme and checking the water content for signs of pollution, or the acidity of the soil, or trying to consult with the Giant Squid about animal welfare.

Who knew with her?

I crossed down the slope towards her. The very fact that she was sitting cross-legged on the pebbles, staring into nothingness, should have warned me to stay away. It was not exactly the weather for such odd occupation, though the rain had stopped during the afternoon. However, before I could comprehend it, I'd said her name. When I subsequently glimpsed her face, I knew I should have just hurried on with my own business and ignored her. Her countenance was rather grim; in fact, she looked like she might have been recently crying. I nearly groaned aloud at my luck.

She fussed with her hair and robes, apparently slightly embarrassed at being caught. 'Professor Snape,' she said weakly, 'I was just… noting down my observations so far, um…'

I looked pointedly at the blank parchment beside her, lying next to a closed inkpot and a decidedly ink-free quill.

A rueful smile appeared around her mouth. 'All right, I've been indulging in a bout of nostalgia, while I had five minutes…'

I made a sound of acknowledgement and was about to leave her to her nostalgia, when she addressed me again.

'It hit me rather suddenly today. I don't know why, but I've been all round the castle, talking to people and so on, and everywhere I went seemed to call forth some reminiscence or other.'

Oh, good Merlin; what had I walked into? Nevertheless, I found myself answering in as neutral a tone as I could. 'Unpleasant reminiscences, I take it?'

She shrugged. 'Bittersweet, mostly.' She leant forward and rested her chin on her hand.

What had Minerva said? She'd been in Gryffindor Tower. Ugh, she was thinking of Weasley again, no doubt; probably Potter, as well. I moved to leave, but her voice pulled me up short once more. I clenched my jaw.

'I cannot help but be struck by the contrast in my life then and my life now.'

I stared at the back of her head and shook mine dismissively. 'A more redundant observation I never heard, Miss Granger,' I said swiftly, reflexively bridling at her negative tone. 'As I think I intimated to you before, you've much to be grateful for.'

What pit of melancholia had she fallen into? If she expected me to coddle her, then… But would she really expect that of _me_ , though? Probably not.

A smile played about her mouth and she started getting to her feet. She didn't look at me, but occupied herself with wiping her hands on her robes. 'Undoubtedly, and therein lies the crux of the matter. I have much to be thankful for, and yet…' She shrugged again, as if that action alone was all the eloquence needed, and maybe it was.

'I just don't seem to enjoy anything anymore.' She paused in thought. 'Ron once said that there was something… _wrong_ with me, and I have to wonder if he was right. I look around me and everyone seems to be getting on with their lives. They're happy and content, and I think, 'Am I really the only one who feels such disaffection, even boredom?'

'The day you start taking psychiatric advice from Weasley is the day to decide that, yes, there _is_ something wrong with you.'

She hummed in weak agreement. 'Perhaps I've been spoiled by the adventures of my childhood…'

I almost laughed aloud. She wouldn't be the first to think that adulthood was one big anticlimax.

'Do, um… Do you ever wonder if _this_ is it?' She looked at me, slightly self-conscious at her question.

I shrugged my shoulders (clearly, that half-arsed gesture was catching). Did I ever think about whether I would still be stuck behind my desk in fifty years time? Of course I did.

'Miss Granger, I challenge you to find someone who has _not_ considered it at some point in their lifetime.' My voice held a note of weary impatience.

She appeared to remain unconvinced. 'Ron is—'

I automatically huffed loudly in interruption at the mention of Weasley, and I think she might have smirked in reply. She bent down to pick up her writing materials and stepped a bit closer to me. 'Before you say anything, none of this is about regretting my divorce, in the sense that I still love Ron, anyway.'

I inwardly cringed. Why the hell was I having this conversation?

She continued, oblivious to my disquiet. 'We separated precisely because I could not love him. I tried, but I could not pretend and that is why I regret it—that I ever had to hurt him in the first place.' The expression on her face was distant, and she spoke more to the surroundings than to me; that is how it appeared, anyway.

'He said during an argument once that I was cold, and, I don't know; there's never been any interest in anyone else—'

She stopped abruptly, and I was forever grateful for it. I mean, really— _why_ was she telling me this? I'd only come down here to demand that she get back to work, and now I was fully versed in the aches and pains of Hermione Granger.

Her problem was obvious to me, though. She was lonely.

How could I not fail to recognise such a trait when I had so much practice with it myself? I'd been alone since ever I could remember, and thus, in some way, it had ceased to be an issue for me. She was young, however, and the sting more acute, no doubt; especially when everyone else around her was tying knots and popping out children.

I should have liked, perhaps, to tell her to do as I do and just get on with life. Wallowing in misery, self-pity and resentment would never get her anywhere. Still, I knew it wasn't as straightforward as that. It was only natural for her to bemoan her isolation, as I'm sure everyone, in their inmost heart, wishes to have someone to share life with. Even I did at one point in my life.

I frowned at her. 'I find people make their own luck in this world, Miss Granger.'

To a certain extent, I believed it so. She nodded slowly and I could see she realised the significance of what I was saying.

'Perhaps I shall try harder.' A watery smile graced her face.

She didn't need to know that I'd given up trying a long time ago. Or, maybe she already knew. It was not such an obscure deduction to make, after all. _Well, let her use me as her example, then_.

'Maybe I want you to understand me,' she said with an air of quiet contemplation.

'Poor, misunderstood, Miss Granger…' I muttered cuttingly. There was my catty remark, but she did not bridle at it.

What an utterly _strange_ girl she was!

I'd thought her to be many things during the time I'd been acquainted with her, and _strange_ had never fitted so well as it did now. I don't think I could say that she matched with what I remembered of her as a student. Certain aspects of her character were familiar, of course, but others were not. She'd never struck me as a particularly introspective person, for instance; though, that would suggest I spent time fathoming the depth of personality my students possess, and I don't.

She was smiling at me widely now, and part of me felt slightly alarmed by the occurrence.

'I expect I have sounded rather hard done by—become perilously close to the pitiful dramatic refrain of, 'No one understands me!' She smiled again. 'I daresay I am no enigma, though. But thank you, Professor Snape, for withstanding my gloom. It's the castle… I never anticipated that it might be difficult coming back here. Still, so much happened, after all…'

'One gets used to it,' I replied quietly, and I was suddenly unable to look at her, which annoyed me. Bloody chit! She had no possible idea about what it was like to be confronted so thoroughly by former hopes and aspirations, past regrets and transgressions! This time, I turned around and nothing was going to stop me from leaving. I had better things to do with my time than stand around talking nonsense with her.

Hurried footsteps could be heard behind me and then her hand was touching my arm as if to entreat me to stop, which I did, but only because I could not grasp her sheer audacity.

'Don't be offended,' she pressed, almost eagerly. 'I know I have all the tactfulness of a brick, sometimes, but I don't mean anything by it.'

'Unhand me, Miss Granger,' I demanded shortly.

Her fingers reflexively loosened and fell away from my forearm, but she was staring up at me in a most curious fashion.

'No, I may be no enigma, but you, Professor Snape, certainly are,' she stated as matter of fact. A slight smile lifted her lips, but her eyes still held an edge of pathos, and something that I feared might be construed as… understanding.

I said nothing; I only looked away. She took it for the dismissal it was and walked off—returning to the castle, I presumed.

I was rather frozen to the spot, and an odd sense of foreboding swept through me as I observed her retreat. Why did she have to personalise everything? She couldn't just come here and do her job and leave me be, could she? And I reacted against any idea that she and I shared any kind of common ground. I realised it was fairly pointless to do so, but it was my instinctive reaction. We were not linked in any way.

Yes, I was definitely going to have to keep a steady eye on that strange girl. To avoid what end, I wasn't sure, but even enigmas may be cracked—eventually.

And I prefer myself in one piece, thank you very much.

* * *

AN: : )


	6. Part Six

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 6**

'How do you think we've been doing, Minerva?'

It was lunchtime and we were walking towards the Great Hall. Already, we only had two more full days with our visitors, and yet, I sometimes felt they'd been here a month. I couldn't wait to be able to stop looking over my shoulder all of the time. If I wanted to sleep at my desk, then I could. If I wanted to miss lunch, then I could. And if I wanted to walk about the castle with a face like thunder, then I bloody well could! No more of this guff about appearances, and having approachability, and, forgive me, _affability_. Mind, there's nothing within nature that could induce me towards affability, and I doubt anything in magic would, either.

Minerva gave a little sigh as she spoke. 'All right, I think. It's so difficult to tell, though. They don't give much away. Take yesterday; I've no idea what Mr Appleby thought while he was in my classroom. He watched while I demonstrated a spell, then he moved around the class, talking to students while they practised, looked at a few exercise books, but said very little to me.' She shook her head firmly. 'I was on edge all day! You should be thankful you don't have to suffer it.'

I snorted dryly. 'No, you're quite right. I only have to put up with Granger, nose to the ground, magnifying glass poised, following _every_ move I've made for the past three years.'

She gave a short chuckle. 'I'm positive she is not as bad as that, Severus.'

'Did you know that this inspection malarkey was all her idea?' How I'd been awaiting for an opportunity to drop that particular bomb.

Minerva stopped in her tracks. ' _Her_ idea?'

I paused mid-stride and turned around, resisting the urge to smirk. 'Why yes, your former protégé decided this was the best way to appeal to doubtful parents. Will you thank her now, or later?'

Minerva pursed her lips and began walking once more. 'Well… If she thought it necessary, then—'

'Oh, for crying out loud, Minerva! You were against this whole thing as I was—don't switch sides just because your precious Granger is responsible!'

Why are women so fickle?

'It's not about sides, Severus—'

'It is; it's about the Ministry, and the school, and Granger is the little go-between, whether she realises it or not.'

We descended the steps into the Entrance Hall.

'You still persist in the idea that the Ministry have some ulterior motive — that they will use this opportunity to exert their influence?'

'Until I see otherwise, then yes, I persist,' I muttered impatiently, annoyed by the faint tinge of admonishment in her voice. What was wrong with a little pessimism or suspicion? The best piece of advice anyone can give anyone is surely 'prepare for the worst!'

Minerva huffed under her breath as I pushed open the door into the Great Hall.

'I wish you wouldn't be so negative, Severus; besides, the Ministry would not want to do anything that would be to the detriment of the school.'

I frowned. What made her a Ministry sycophant all of a sudden? I might suspect _Imperio_ if I was from the Alastor Moody school of paranoia. I tried a different tack.

'Do you know what happens to Muggles when they reach sixty-plus, Minerva?' I asked, as we approached the High Table. 'They are pensioned off. What if the Ministry feels some of us are too old (or too dead in Binns' case) to teach anymore? How old are you, hmm? What, ninety-odd?'

Minerva came to halt in the middle of the dais. 'Severus!' she spluttered, and I noticed Granger glance at us from where she was sat at the table. 'Now you are talking rot!'

I probably was exaggerating a tad much, but I wanted her on my side of thinking.

'Ageism is a very real concern, Minerva,' I explained sadly. 'Aren't you concerned they may not think you up to it anymore?'

Her eyes flashed at me and she scowled. 'Are you suggesting I'm not up to it? I can tell you now, young man, I could show you a thing or two!'

It wasn't going the way I'd anticipated. She was angry with _me_ , not the Ministry. Her voice was becoming slightly raised as she spluttered and scoffed, so I stepped towards her and told her to sit down.

'No! I want to hear the rest of your grand theory!' she spat.

There weren't many at the staff table, but Granger was clearly within earshot.

'Sit down,' I hissed through clenched teeth, pulling out a chair for her. 'We'll discuss it later.'

'Boss me about!' she muttered acidy, but nevertheless, took her seat, while flashing me a filthy look as she did so.

I sighed and took my own seat on the other side of Granger. She was studiously looking at her plate, and I think she may have been slightly embarrassed. Good. On her other side, Minerva was chinking and clinking her cutlery about with such force that I almost groaned. Why had I opened my mouth?

'Sir?' asked Granger suddenly. 'May I—'

'Not now, Miss Granger,' I dismissed shortly. 'I beg of you, let me eat my—' I glanced down at my plate and pinched the bridge of my nose '—my bloody _salad_ in peace!'

* * *

I'd anticipated that Thursday was always going to be a trying day. Following dinner, in the afternoon, I would have that meeting about student welfare to look forward to. The only enjoyable aspect about that event so far had been informing Poppy that she was required to attend.

' _Me_?' she'd gasped.

'Why yes, Poppy. I mean, you're the school nurse—probably the first port of call for many students with particular problems.'

Ha! She'd thought she'd get through this inspection scot-free, well, she could think again.

'Who will be running the meeting?' she'd asked me warily.

'Mrs Lewis—the cold, old battleaxe, in Horace's words,' I had gleefully informed her in reply.

She'd left me looking a little less smug than she had in recent days.

I had a few hours before I would have to endure sitting through that meeting. Another fly in the ointment, though, was that Minerva still wasn't talking to me following that fracas at lunch. She'd stormed out of the Great Hall before I'd finished, and when I happened to pass her in the corridor, a little while after, she'd completely blanked me out. I wasn't offended, of course; I just considered that I'd perhaps picked the wrong time for one of our battle of the wills.

Well, there it was—she'd crack eventually.

Mid-afternoon, I sometimes embark on a purposeful stroll about the castle, time permitting, of course. The purpose lay in that I intended to catch pupils who thought themselves able to skive off certain lessons, usually Divination or History of Magic. I had hopes that none would dare try it during this week, but there were some, I knew, who might give it a go. Cocky bastards.

I passed by some of the usual haunts, but the castle appeared rather quiet. Satisfied that I'd done my duty, I decided to stop off in the library and pick up a few books, while it would be more or less empty. However, when I entered, I immediately spied Granger sitting at a table with a group of third-years. They were talking quietly, and as I stepped a bit closer, I realised they were discussing some Muggle Studies project. From what I could see, Granger looked almost beside herself with eagerness. No doubt she was wishing she was a student once more.

'You may want to be careful, Mr Scrivener, lest Miss Granger give in to temptation and end up taking over your project.'

The children immediately became alert when they spotted me. Some fidgeted rather uncomfortably—it was always good to know that time had not withered that particular talent of mine. Granger turned in her seat momentarily, before looking once more at the group around her.

'Professor Snape's right,' she said sheepishly.

I wondered what they had been talking about besides work—what kind of questions had she been asking? I didn't get to know the students as well as I did when I was teaching, but I vaguely knew those sitting with her, and they were not the most obnoxious chatterboxes we had, so I considered it was probably all right.

'Would you like to join us, Headmaster? We are discussing Muggle London.'

Her mouth lifted slightly—she knew I would never comply. I appreciated her invitation, however, for the third-years fidgeted even more and looked at each other in horror, as if to say, 'Oh my God!'

'I think not, Miss Granger.'

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders.

As I was leaving the library, I almost stopped in my tracks when I heard Granger ask the group, 'So, what do you all think of Professor Snape?'

She'd done that on purpose, I knew it.

I scowled well into the afternoon.

* * *

At half past five I took a seat at the table in the staff room, forsaking my usual place at the head of it (it wasn't my meeting, after all) and choosing one opposite Minerva (the better I could stare at her). Granger and her rabble filed in, as did Poppy, looking a little pale, and once all the Heads of Houses were present, the discussion commenced. Mrs Lewis started by asking our opinion as to what the main issues that arose with the students were, for, as we were told most solemnly, 'No two schools are ever the same.'

For my own part, I opted to remain quiet, while the others spoke at length about homesickness, the process of adjusting, bullying, and so on. I didn't think that Hogwarts had a particularly huge problem with bullying, but it went on, of course. After a time, the discussion moved on to how we dealt with informing Muggle-borns of the existence of magic and Hogwarts. Minerva piped up quite readily.

'Well, we certainly don't send _Severus_ to speak to new students,' she commented sharply, turning a sly glance on me.

I gave a small smirk of acknowledgement—this was her revenge for my earlier remarks. It was more or less a fair comment, anyway. I would probably be the last person a Muggle would want to see on their doorstep, informing them their child was to come to my school.

Nine nine nine would probably never have been dialled so fast.

'It's true, but Minerva's an… _old_ hand at that sort of thing.'

Well, I couldn't let her get away unpunished in front of everyone, could I? She only pursed her lips long-sufferingly.

Minerva was good at the job, as far as I could tell. She had a no-nonsense air of practicality about her that was helpful during the times when the Muggles believed you to be either a confidence-trickster, practical joker, or just plain insane. I believe Dumbledore, when he was Transfiguration Master, had a close shave with a brute of a man who'd set upon him when Dumbledore had innocently suggested, 'Let me show you my wand.'

Muggles are so quick to judge.

Without going into a debate on gender politics, it always appeared that female teachers were received far better than males ones. But I supposed that even the way in which we went about recruiting students would have to change. I'd probably be sending Minerva out with some predetermined spiel for her to carry out nothing less than a bloody sales pitch.

Meanwhile, the talk was now centred upon what Mrs Lewis determined 'support networks,' and how students should develop their social and emotional skills. Again, I said very little. Who the hell was I to pontificate on social development when my own social skills were possibly the least developed in the whole room!

Nevertheless, I inwardly scoffed at some of the things she was coming out with—talking about 'making friendships,' 'overcoming conflict,' 'managing feelings' and so on, but she also spoke of students being self-aware, and whatever one may think, I do possess an element of self-awareness. I am aware of my deficiencies, even if, on occasion, I ignore them and generally do nothing to rectify them. So, again—who was I to scoff at such talk? I could hardly say, 'We had none of this crap in my day and look how well I turned out!'

It would have gone down as possibly one of the most deluded remarks to have ever been uttered aloud.

I think my… _cynicism_ , shall we say, lay not with the intention, but with the method. What good was it giving everything a label and setting out parameters—what good was it in practice? No student is ever the same, and neither is every teacher ever the same. Did it help in the real world? I had to wonder.

She reminded us, then, as if such a thought had never, ever, occurred to us before, that, 'Happier students mean they will behave better and have higher educational attainment.'

No, I could never have made such a difficult deduction.

Granger was now speaking, deigning to give us some feedback as to some of the discussions they'd had with the students on this very topic.

'We've been speaking to students about who they turn to if they have a problem, or worry, and so on. Most replied they would go to their Head of House, some to a favourite teacher, or Madam Pomfrey.' She consulted a sheet of parchment. 'One child remarked, "I would not go to Professor Snape with a nosebleed, let alone a personal problem."'

I blinked.

There were several snorts in the room and I glared fiercely at Granger, who was obviously holding back a smile. She dared to mock me, did she? I wished I had called her more than just a glorified quill-pusher, now.

'To be fair, it is unlikely that Severus should be their first port of call, anyway,' said Minerva diplomatically, though I detected an amused glint in her eyes nevertheless. 'He is called upon only to deal with the most serious issues that arise.'

Of course I was—there had to be some perks to the job, after all, and not dealing with sniffles and melodrama were precisely that. Granger only smiled and continued reading. Nothing much was said that wasn't news to me. Again, a more comprehensive view would be detailed in the _report_.

So, the meeting was concluded, though as to what precise conclusion, I wasn't sure. It was hard to judge the opinion of Mrs Lewis and so forth, from what they'd already said. Appleby and Jones had not said much at all, merely sitting silently, flanking the other two like a pair of impassive sentinels. But it was done, and that was that.

I caught Minerva's eye and nodded my head slightly. She got up and passed round a few glasses of Elf-made wine. The inspectors didn't look in any particular hurry to leave, so the least I could do was aid their winding down further... Maybe loosen their tongues, in the process. I wasn't entirely in the mood for chat, but I remained with the aim of keeping an eye on things. After all, I knew very well how loose my own teachers' tongues could become. As Horace tipped back his wine, I thought, _very loose, indeed_.

We removed to the armchairs; I stretched out my legs, sunk into my chair at the edge of the group, and, for the most part, tuned out the aimless chatter around me. I was mentally brewing a selection of potions, Wolfsbane, to start with—my favourite way of easing my mind. However, when Jones' increasingly vociferous tones nearly caused me to add too many lacewing flies, I blinked slowly and let my eyes drift towards the group nearby.

Interestingly enough, in doing so, I caught Granger examining me. She soon looked downwards, however, when my eyes alighted upon her.

'Seen something you like?' I asked slyly, but quietly, that only she might hear.

She darkened a most potent shade of red. I only raised an eyebrow, making known my desire for explanation.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, 'I was just thinking...'

'A dangerous occupation for some, Miss Granger; I do hope you are extending caution.'

She, rather stiffly, turned her attention towards Jones. What amusement she provided me with! I might even miss it, once she was gone, I decided.

I returned to my former distraction—Jones. I soon established that he was waxing lyrical about the castle, and, yes, while I can understand the impressiveness of the structure, I felt that poeticism was taking things a bit far. How he would have loved to have gone to school, here! he lamented.

What — a draughty, prone to damp and disrepair, maze of a building? I wanted to ask.

'Not to mention the history!' he exclaimed.

Oh yes—history that the majority of students have no idea about.

Granger was sitting there listening to him with a small smile upon her lips, as were most of the others.

'Try being here in the dead of winter!' Minerva interposed, with a laugh.

I could always rely on Minerva to return sense to a situation.

'But I bet the school looks fantastic against the backdrop of the snow and mountains!'

Well, as long as the castle _looks_ fantastic...!

I should probably have been encouraging such enthusiasm; after all, it boded well, did it not? But I had to wonder where it was all going. I felt uneasy about Hogwarts being marketed on its singular aesthetics—it's _selling point_ , perhaps. I had an idea that this was what the Ministry was aiming for with publishing these documents on the school. It occurred to me that such a strategy could backfire spectacularly.

I gritted my teeth and wished for something stronger than Elf-made wine. I wondered if I could Summon my Ogden's without anyone noticing.

'Ignatius, how long is it since you left here?' asked Mrs Lewis.

It seemed I wasn't the only one tiring of Jones' gusto.

The plentiful whiskers on Appleby's cheeks twitched as he thought. 'Oh, must be sixty-odd years. Mind, so much hasn't changed at all, you know, even from when I was a pupil here.'

'But, Miss Granger, it is surely a shorter time for you?' queried Jones.

'Certainly, Mr Jones—nearly eight years.'

Was it really _fifteen_ years ago that Potter stepped into my classroom for the first time? I could remember it like it was yesterday—unfortunately.

'And I'd be interested to hear of your impressions of Hogwarts when you first started. I'm assuming you were unaware of its existence until shortly before? How did your parents react, if you don't mind me asking?'

I did not look at her, but I was listening, apparently intrigued by what her response would be.

'Professor McGonagall came to see us, of course. We all found it considerably overwhelming, but we came round to the idea of magic pretty quickly, because it explained all the strange incidents that had happened to me growing up. As for coming here, well, I, ah, read _Hogwarts: a History_ before arriving, but it was still extremely daunting. Being a Muggle-born, I suppose I had some sub-conscious idea that I had to justify my being at Hogwarts... In any case, I found it difficult to settle in, at first.'

'You never said anything at the time, Hermione!'

'Hurt pride, Minerva?'

She only scowled at me in reply.

Granger shrugged. 'It didn't seem important enough to bother you with, and after the troll incident, I was fine.'

I almost flinched at her words.

'Troll? I'm sorry, did you just say " _troll incident_ "?' Appleby enquired, sounding rather stunned.

Well done, Granger—well _bloody_ done! Tell everyone how easy it was to let a fully grown mountain troll into the castle!

She was oblivious to my thoughts, however. In fact, she continued quite warmly. 'Oh yes. I was, well, _attacked_ by one in the girls' bathroom during my first year.'

The other three inspectors looked at each other. Granger only smiled in what I can only describe as fond memory. 'You have to understand, my experience of Hogwarts is by no means typical of the norm.'

Jones chuckled weakly. 'No, I suppose not. Dear Merlin; a troll. Tell me, what other mishaps did you get into?'

I bit my tongue, half debating whether to reach for my wand and hex her into shutting up, but I was not hasty enough.

'I got Petrified by a Basilisk when I was thirteen.'

She said it with _such_ pride.

Mrs Lewis, meanwhile, _did_ flinch, sloshing her wine slightly. Jones' mouth dropped open, and Appleby only spluttered.

'A _Basilisk_?' he repeated dumbly, gaping.

I thought about intervening, but Minerva was a couple of steps ahead of me.

'You may, or may not, recall that there was some mention of the trouble in the _Prophet_ at the time,' she explained, and I could hear an element of tightness in her voice. She was feeling as uncomfortable as I was with where the direction the conversation was headed, then.

'I assure you, it is no longer with us—Potter saw to that, of course.' At the sound of my voice, Granger glanced at me. I glared back at her with warning.

'What else?' questioned Jones eagerly.

Granger was now looking slightly confused, as if finally realising her error. 'Oh, nothing much,' she said, sounding anything but blasé.

'Surely something else must have happened? What about your third year?'

'That was the year Sirius Black escaped, wasn't it?' piped up Filius helpfully.

I was surrounded by fools—it was the only conclusion to make.

Granger nodded vaguely, still looking uneasy. 'Yes, that's true. Anyway, my life is a lot more mundane these days.'

'But, of course, Miss Granger.' Mrs Lewis smiled. 'Didn't you have Dolores Umbridge on your tail one year? Merlin that woman infuriates me! I believe it was you who lead her into the Forbidden Forest, wasn't it, before tearing off to the Department of Mysteries?'

'Oh yes, I, ah, got on the wrong side of some, um, Death Eaters that year.'

I heard Jones, or maybe Appleby, sigh in wonder. I wasn't looking at any of them. I stared at my feet, gripping my glass hard. What would come next? 'In my sixth year, as you already know, my Potions Master killed my Headmaster—there he is, sitting in that chair.'

I felt eyes upon me, though whose they were, I did not look up to determine.

'More wine, anyone?' asked Minerva in what I perceived to be a pathetic attempt to divert the subject.

Still, it appeared to work somewhat, for after a brief interlude, Jones continued albeit in a slightly different vein. 'And what was our Miss Granger like as a student, then?'

I could only scowl inwardly. Why did he have to keep banging on about Granger—was he obsessed with her or something?

'I expect she was a model student, eh?'

I noticed Granger blush, and I think that was what made me snort in such an obviously derogatory fashion. All eyes suddenly turned on me. No doubt they were intrigued by one of the few sounds of animation I had made all evening.

'Depends on your definition of model, doesn't it?' I explained airily, looking at the girl in question.

She looked at her hands.

I was being a little unfair, of course. I could hardly deny that most teachers would give their right arms for a class-full of Grangers, after all. Still, she'd been drawn along into every fix and scrape Potter had had, and thus had given me just as much trouble by proxy. Maybe I could have appreciated her more had she chosen her friends more wisely. Not to mention had she flaunted her intelligence less eagerly.

Minerva was happily taking over the conversation to list Miss Granger's best bits—I had _no_ desire to hang around reminiscing over her school years. I stood up.

'Excuse me, but I have some things I need to attend to.'

Such as finding my bottle of Ogden's.

I heard myself sighing as I shut the staff room door behind me. Granger's gloomy bouts of self-reflection were obviously contagious. Then again, such moments were not new to me, and, in fact, I decided I was probably about due for one, anyway. I quickly retreated to my office, alternately cursing several beings—Granger, Jones, the Ministry, Dumbledore… myself.

What was the use, though?

I tipped a measure of Firewhisky into a glass and downed it in one.

There was no bloody use in letting myself get unutterably pissed off, but I had not the energy to stop it.

'Severus, are you—'

'Not now, Albus,' I said, maybe a tad self-pityingly. 'Leave me be.'

He said nothing more, so I assumed he'd capitulated and took himself off elsewhere—maybe even to join the chat going on in the staff room. Mind, we'd had a sort of unspoken agreement that he would lie low during the inspection, and, to his credit, he'd had the grace to do exactly that—avoiding the inspectors. He knew that to do otherwise would be to make me feel rather uncomfortable. Though, for crying out loud, it wasn't as if I hadn't had years to get used to it!

I grasped the bottle of Ogden's around the neck and was preparing to go on up to my rooms with it, when a series of timid knocks sounded on my door. Only my sense of duty prevailed upon me to open it when I should have much preferred to ignore it. Setting the bottle down with a clunk, I marched angrily across the room to wrench the door open.

'What?' I demanded.

Oh, mercy be—it was Granger.

She looked up at me rather uneasily, it seemed, to my mind.

'What do you want, Miss Granger? Shouldn't you be on your way home by now?'

'May I come in?' she asked.

Part of me, nay, _most_ of me, rebelled against complying, but I figured she would say whatever she had to say regardless of where she stood. I shrugged and moved back towards my desk, shuffling some papers quite unnecessarily. She said nothing for several moments—merely stood there. I grew impatient, but eventually, she spoke.

'I put my foot in it again, didn't I?'

I temporarily forgot my preoccupation with my papers and stilled.

'I'm sorry—I shouldn't have brought up all those things that happened when I was a student. Maybe they were adventures for me, but I know they held far greater significance for you.'

Inexplicably, I felt some of my ire drain away at her words, but that, in turn, annoyed me. I answered her coolly. 'It's fine,' I said, hoping that was to be the end of the matter.

It wasn't.

She made no move to leave, so I faced her. 'Well, anything else?'

'I just want you to know that… Well, I've got the impression, at times, that you feel this whole endeavour has been personal, and almost a vendetta, even, and it's not. This is not personal towards anyone—neither you nor any other teacher. This is about teaching standards and nothing else.'

I advanced on her steadily, her words having quite a different effect to the one she intended, I'm sure.

'Do you think, for one moment, that I would be allowed within twenty yards of a Muggle school with my past credentials?'

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she remained silent.

'Well, do you?' I pressed.

'I don't know,' she replied weakly.

I shook my head resentfully. 'You do know, Miss Granger. I told you once before that the only reason I am in this job is because the Ministry felt obliged to me following the war. Eight years have since elapsed, ample time, I'm sure, for such inconvenient sentiment to dissipate! Especially now things are apparently not going very well.'

I stepped away from her. 'And don't think this is all because I am worried for myself. If I am found culpable for any wrongdoing, then I shall accept my fate entirely. My only concern is for the school and the future it faces if the Ministry seeks to remove me to further their own interests.'

'They wouldn't—'

'Wouldn't they? Oh, wake up, Miss Granger. Do you not think they secretly blame me for Hogwarts' present troubles?'

'Why should they?'

'Because I represent all that is bad and dangerous in the Magical world.' It was something I'd avoided dwelling on, but it was an unavoidable conclusion to make—that it was I potentially putting parents off Hogwarts. I sighed silently. 'Maybe… I should step aside.'

It would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it? Maybe the Ministry had no designs upon the school, after all. Perhaps it was only I who posed the threat.

'No, that's ridiculous,' she dismissed, shaking her head vehemently. 'It's completely untrue. Granted, the past conflict with Voldemort is an issue, but it does not centre upon you. Besides, the Ministry never condemned you for your part in the war.'

'That may be so, but people make up their own minds, Miss Granger.'

'The Ministry is not going to get rid of you because of your past!'

I was starting to get rather frustrated with her and her with me, no doubt.

'You can dress it up any way you like, but the fact remains that my past does not befit such a role as this!'

It was an implacable truth.

I'd thought it when I'd taken over the reins when Hogwarts had reopened after the war, and time had not eased such considerations. I turned away from her to stare out of the window, out over the lake. What right, really, did I have to be here — to have one of the most prestigious occupations in Wizarding Britain?

'The past is not important, sir. It is not relevant to any of this.'

Well, she was trying hard to convince me; I supposed I should give her some credit for that—she didn't owe me anything, after all.

'The past is not a closed book, Miss Granger,' I said, glancing briefly over my shoulder at her. 'Or did I not catch you distressing yourself over it only yesterday?'

She had no reply.

'I only want what is best for the school. I thought it was—'

I broke off. I was going to say that I thought _I'd_ been doing a good job. I always hoped from this that I could be judged for something other than spying, being a Death Eater, or being in love with the same woman for an obscene amount of time. Before I could ruminate further, Granger's voice dispersed such thoughts, and I realised she'd moved closer.

'I stand by what I said to you earlier this week—you're paranoid.'

I clenched my jaw and rounded upon her. 'I am not.' My tone brooked no argument.

She stared up at me, almost obstinately, but I was not going to back down. What an interference she was! I couldn't help but find it maddening that I should be forced to relay all this to _her_ , of all people!

'Fine,' she said sharply, her eyes softening in a way that should have been portentous to me, but I failed to read it. 'Fine; say the Ministry is looking for a way to oust you—I won't let them.'

'You won't let them,' I stated slowly. Certainly, I was surprised by such a statement.

'I won't,' she repeated firmly.

I nearly smiled—a smile of derision, mind you. 'Right, well, forgive me if I don't put too much faith in your influence as a bottom-of-the-pile clerk in the Department for Magical Creatures.'

She ignored my sarcasm, which galled me. I could see she was about to reiterate her resolve, and, for whatever reason, a surge of anger (perhaps at her presumption or confidence, I didn't know) passed through me.

'You're talking nonsense, girl!'

She frowned deeply. 'It's not—'

'It is!'

'No, I will—'

'I don't want any favours from you, or from anyone else, is that clear?'

'Will you let me speak?' she demanded in a loud voice.

I only remained silent because she was rather wide-eyed and a tad flushed. Was she sickening for something?

'Do you think _no one_ has any sense of appreciation for what you've done?'

I said nothing.

'Do you think _everyone_ would just stand by and let them push you aside unjustifiably? Do you?'

My heart seemed to beat hard at her words. I had never given consideration to the fact that I would have the support of others.

'I don't know,' I said quietly. She was standing awfully close now, and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

'Well, you should know that they won't,' she said softly.

I didn't dare ask who 'they' constituted. Were I not already thrown off by her, I might have registered her raising her hands, as well as the hint of purpose in her expression. As it was, I did nothing—could do nothing—while her hands grasped my face, and she, I still can't believe it, kissed me.

Her lips touched mine in the most feather-like of fashions. It was such that I barely felt it, but my whole insides jumped at the contact, nevertheless. She stepped back immediately, faintly flushed with what I took to be embarrassment, unable to meet my eyes. I need hardly say that I was completely stunned.

'What, in the devil's name, was that?' I demanded, in a slightly hoarse, but stern voice.

What kind of game was she playing with me?

She looked at me uncomfortably, but then drew herself up, as if to say, 'I'll do as I like.'

'A kiss,' she said simply. 'A kiss from me to you.'

Well, I'd gathered that much! She thought that explained it all, did she? Did she think she could go around bestowing kisses on every poor sod she found?

'Why?'

'I don't know…'

I rather thought she bloody well did know, but the look on her face was one of confusion and something else that I could not place. It was something soft, it… Whatever it was, it should not have been directed at me.

'Please, I…' She made a movement towards me to, what—kiss me, _again_? I wasn't sure, but I never found out, for I instinctively reared backwards, out of reach.

Her face fell—I watched in a kind of involuntary fascination as it did. The faint blush was still with her, in her cheeks, but what did it all signify? Why should she behave in such a way? The strange girl!

'Sorry…'

So saying, she turned and left.

I didn't move for several moments, but when I did, it was to discover Phineas Nigellus staring down at me from his portrait, shaking his head sadly.

'Only you would turn down a free smooch, Severus.'

I scowled fiercely at him. 'Keep your bloody beak out of my business, would you?'

Interfering old git!

I rubbed a hand over my face. But Merlin, she was a vexatious girl! She was obviously shy of a few marbles. I just could not fathom her at all! I brought my hand down to rub viciously over my lips. It had been the very lightest of touches, and yet I still felt it—an infuriating tingle.

Hours later, following several whiskies, I felt it.

I felt it when I threw myself into bed, too.

And when I awoke the next morning, Merlin help me, but I could feel it still.

* * *

AN: ; )


	7. Part Seven

**An Inspector Calls**

 **Part 7**

It was Friday; the last day of inspected lessons. The last but one day before the inspectors would depart and never come back. Or, at least, not come back for a rather long time, anyway. The last but one day before things could get back to normal, and I could put it all out of my mind—at least until the time came for me to read the dreaded report, of course.

And yet, _and_ _yet_ —I was in more of a foul mood than ever.

By mid-morning, I'd already snapped furiously at Horace. He'd come charging towards me after breakfast, demanding that I speak to the inspectors about his thrice-damned Slug Club.

'Time is running out, Severus!' he cried, wide-eyed and disproportionately frantic.

I couldn't help it, but I snapped.

'For Merlin's sake, Horace! I have the governors arriving here at any moment—I really couldn't give a rat's arse about your bloody club! In fact, I'll shut it down myself if you don't stop badgering me!'

I regretted my outburst as soon as I'd unleashed it, but once it was done, it was done. Minerva had shaken her head in disappointment, and she'd taken Horace by the arm and walked off, talking to him soothingly.

'He doesn't mean it,' I heard her murmur.

And why was I in such an infuriating mood?

Because of that nonsensical Granger girl! I mean, how could she _dare_ to inflict herself upon me in such an inconceivable manner? _Why_ would she dare to? That was what irritated me the most. Why, in the name of all that is good, would Hermione Granger… (I could barely bring myself to say it) _kiss_ me?

I had no idea. I felt like storming about the castle, demanding of anyone I could find to tell me why Hermione Granger should kiss me. I would never do that, of course. It wouldn't be too big of a leap for people to think I'd finally cracked. But Merlin, how _dare_ she presume to just… I can quite confidently say that I had never, _ever_ , given her any reason to suppose that I should welcome such an advance. Had I? I mean, surely not! Still, had I not already determined that she was a strange girl? This was, clearly, just another facet of her incomprehensible character.

I had to stop puzzling over it—that would be the best solution. Unfortunately, my sub-conscious mind had been unable to let go of it last night. This morning I could remember vague bits and pieces of some, well, alarming imaginings. Granger stalking me around the castle; lurking behind corners and jumping out at me at the last moment. Granger laughing at me. Granger reporting back to the Ministry that, 'Headmaster Snape is a dirty old sod—he came onto me while I was analysing the budget!'

Because, of course, I was not titillated by the significance of her action—a young woman kissing an old (ish) man. That would be to presume that I am any kind of normal man. No, I was only concerned with her motive. I refused to consider the prospect of anything else. I will say that, at this point, part of me did step back and say, 'You _are_ one of the most paranoid men to have ever walked the earth.' I am too set in my ways to change now, however.

Even if her purpose was benign, to an extent, it could only be because she was desperate. What was it she had said down by the lake? Something about there having never been anyone else since Weasley, and that must have been a year or more since. She was desperate, then. Though, why she should choose to throw herself at me… Unless… Did she think _I_ was desperate, too?

The bloody cheek!

It was no good—I just had to forget about it and put it down as momentary aberrations on both our parts (mostly hers, though). No more, no less. Tomorrow, I would see the back of her and this little incident would disappear from my mind for good.

I would have liked to have avoided her completely that day, but that, I knew, would be impossible. The school governors were arriving for a meeting with the inspectors. I was not to be included in the meeting, nor were any of the teachers for that matter. So, if ever I had made an enemy, or if any of us had made an enemy of a governor, now would be the time for them to stick the knife in. Regardless of that, I was actually glad to be left out of it—I could really not be arsed to pander to them all, as I knew I would be forced to. I'd give my greetings, undertake the introductions, and leave them to fight it out.

They arrived at about eleven o'clock and I led them towards the staff room where the inspectors were waiting. I barely looked at Granger while I introduced everyone, but when I did, as I knew I must, she was all smiles for the governors. Indeed, she looked perfectly at ease. That was fine with me. Maybe she would ignore the goings-on of yesterday, and that was fine with me, too.

The matter was, hopefully, closed.

* * *

Lunchtime was a rather noisy affair. The upcoming Quidditch match no doubt the hotly debated topic of choice amongst the chattering students. I'd already caught several would-be bookmakers doing the rounds, taking money off gullible first-years. They didn't need to know about the betting racket the staff had going on during such events. Do as I say, not do as I do—that's my philosophy in life. In our sweepstake, Pomona had impulsively placed a significant bet upon her own house—who else—winning by an optimistic hundred points. She was a fool. I had my money on Ravenclaw winning with a margin of _two_ hundred points.

I moved between the House tables, purposefully observing the fare laid out along them. Before reaching the High Table, however, I paused behind a fifth-year Slytherin.

'Does this meet with your satisfaction, Mr Hughes? Perhaps, in the future, you would like me to arrange for you to have your own personal menu prepared by the house-elves, in order to meet your exacting needs?'

The boy coloured slightly as his fellow Slytherins snickered around him.

'Thank you, but that will not be necessary, sir.'

I nodded and set off towards my seat. Yesterday, as I'd walked past the Slytherin table during dinner, Hughes had twisted on his bench and exclaimed most impatiently, ' _Sir_!'

He'd proceeded to look from me to the proliferation of salad bowls littering the table, obviously disgusted. Granted, he'd had a point. All down the length and breadth of each House table, expressions had become progressively more pained as the week went on. Salad for lunch, salad for dinner… I should have known that in their eagerness to please, the elves would take things too far.

Still, I did not appreciate being called to account in front of everyone by a fifth-year, and so I had told him to just cut out the commentary or he'd be having salad for breakfast, too.

Nevertheless, I'd paid a visit to the kitchens to speak with the elves, because many of the staff were complaining as well, fearing that they were turning into rabbits. Naturally, the elves had apologised profusely, and there was nearly a full-blown incident on my hands when twenty-odd elves starting banging their heads in cupboard doors and whacking themselves with saucepans—all at the same time.

Today, they'd come up with the goods and the children were stuffing themselves eagerly. Hagrid wasn't even bothering with his own plate. He'd pulled a platter of chips towards him and was eating straight from there. He insisted he'd lost weight this week. I insisted everyone knew he gorged himself on his own inedible baking and so he had nothing to complain about.

Granger was at the table—evidently the meeting with the governors was now concluded. She never complained about the food, of course. Merlin forbid Hermione Granger take issue with a house-elf. I wondered if anyone would consider it odd if I suddenly chose to forsake my usual seat and sit at the end of the table. On balance, I decided it would prove contentious. As I was about to take my usual chair, Minerva hissed my name. I looked at her and she jerked her head towards a woeful looking Horace, further down the table.

'Go and speak to him,' she urged quietly, but firmly.

' _You_ go and speak to him,' I grumbled.

'Severus!'

'Minerva!'

I turned my back on her annoyed features and stepped towards the Potions master, staring morosely into his soup.

I grimaced. 'Horace?'

He turned the most ridiculously forlorn expression towards me that I have possibly ever had the misfortune to see. This was why he was a Slytherin. 'Yes?' he asked pitifully.

I sighed. 'You have a free lesson after lunch—come up to my office and we shall discuss your… _club_.'

He beamed suddenly. 'Oh, thank you, Severus!' He chuckled happily to himself. I had to wonder if he was all right upstairs, sometimes.

I left him to it and returned to my place at the table, resisting the urge to edge my chair away from Granger lest she try and paw at me in front of the whole school. But she looked more or less restrained, concentrating solely on her plate. I thought that I should probably address her in order to discover how the consultation with the governors had gone.

I casually picked up a sandwich and then occupied myself with my goblet. 'Well, then, Miss Granger, I trust your meeting went well?'

I forced myself to glance at her. She flicked her eyes to mine and smiled briefly. 'Very well, thank you.'

I slowly turned back to my sandwich, marvelling at the depth of her loquaciousness. " _Very well_ "—well, I was not going to prevail upon her to explicate her reasoning, however curious I was. Irksome girl.

'Professor?' she suddenly asked.

'Yes?' I said slowly, and a tad warily perhaps, too.

'I should like to discuss something with you, this afternoon.'

I stilled. 'About what, pray?'

'Just what happens following the inspection,' she replied lightly, after a moment. Was she playing with me? Did she anticipate my discomfort over what she'd done yesterday, and did she use it for her amusement now? How dare she be so utterly composed!

I studied her briefly, trying to determine whether my hypothesis was correct. Her expression did not betray the tell-tale signs of entertainment. Maybe I was tad shy of the mark, in this case, then.

'It shall be the highlight of my day,' I said in a deadpan voice.

She stared at me for a moment, something almost contemplative in the way she did so. When she turned away, I registered a slight narrowing of her eyes, suggesting that whatever she'd been puzzling over, the outcome had not been to her liking. But, what did I care? I was not there to fulfil her opaque expectations. If I pissed her off—good, my work was done. Merlin knew _she_ pissed me off enough.

I could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, for which some thanks could go to her. I drained my goblet.

'I shall be in my office,' I said shortly, before standing up. I left my sandwich only half-eaten. I'd shown my face in the hall, the busybodies could be content with that. The less time I spent in her company, the better, I rather thought.

I returned to my office and immediately wished I'd gone elsewhere.

'Only one more day, Severus!' Dumbledore grinned down at me as I rifled through my stash of Headache potions.

'One more day,' I muttered, slumping into my chair, idly picking through some Owls I had yet to respond to.

'I spoke to Phineas today. I say, Severus, you're a dark horse, are you not?'

I was going to have to research into the annals of time and see if there was a precedent for a Headmaster removing all of the blasted portraits from the office, or, at least, simply turning them to the wall. I lifted my eyes from the parchments to Dumbledore. Phineas was nowhere to be seen. So much for Slytherin solidarity.

'Whatever that twit told you is a load of balls.'

Dumbledore frowned at my turn of phrase, as expected. 'Phineas' eyesight is as good as it ever was. In fact, there were other witnesses. Armando, old boy; are you there?'

'Are you not bound to keep the happenings in this office confidential?' I asked furiously.

'Oh, very much so, my dear boy, but not amongst each other.'

'Well, that's all right, then!'

'Look, Severus, I think you should—'

'Albus, I couldn't give two bloody hoots about what you think. For the fiftieth and final time, I shall request that you and your little friends stay out of my business! All right?'

Dumbledore affected a look of offence. 'If you say so, Severus. We mean no harm, I'm sure…'

A likely story.

The door knocked and I immediately called for the person to come in, expecting it to be Horace, but to my dismay, it was the ever eager Granger. Dumbledore actually had the audacity to make a sound of gleeful anticipation as she walked into the room. It inflamed me so much, I snapped at him, almost without realising.

'Remember, Albus, the bottle of Turpentine is only a Summoning charm away!'

Granger stared at me.

'Yes, Miss Granger, I threaten the portraits with solvents. Now, may we proceed?' I asked impatiently.

A frown graced her lips, but she took a seat opposite me without further ado. She'd just opened her mouth to speak, when another knock sounded. I sighed loudly in irritation. 'Yes?' I called.

It was Horace, this time. 'Oh, you're busy,' he observed, looking warily at Granger.

'Miss Granger might as well hear this, Horace. She's in charge after all. Come, you have a special audience with her.'

Granger looked at _me_ warily, now. Horace, however, bounded over to a chair, a grave expression on his face.

'My club!' he said simply, when we merely looked at him.

I think Granger fought not to groan and only narrowly succeeded.

'Miss Granger!' Horace exclaimed. 'You were a member—surely you believe Mrs Lewis has this wrong?'

'Well, Miss Granger?' I pressed, when she said nothing. 'At a loss?'

'I think,' she began slowly. 'I think that Mrs Lewis may have some relevant points.'

Oh dear.

'Relevant?' burst out Horace loudly. 'Poppycock!'

'I'm sorry, Professor Slughorn, I—'

'Severus! Can't _you_ do something?'

I snorted. 'What do you take me for, Horace? Someone with power?' I turned an ironic eye towards Granger.

'Will this set a precedent, then?' demanded Horace briskly. 'Shall you shut down the choir because it discriminates against those who can't sing?'

I didn't butt in and point out that Filius rather seemed to let _anybody_ in, regardless of talent. He was just glad to have people turn up.

'Shall we wave goodbye to the Quidditch teams, because it is unfair on those who cannot get a place? Well? Shall we?' He looked between us expectantly.

I fought not to smirk as I turned to Granger. 'What say you, Miss Granger?'

She glared at me slightly. 'I think you will allow, Professor Slughorn, that the purpose of your club is questionable—'

'It doesn't harm anyone,' Horace protested.

'No, but it is hardly entirely appropriate in a school. Favouritism is highly frowned upon. Children are highly susceptible to forming inferiority complexes, you know.'

Oh, Granger, no—not half-arsed Muggle psychology.

'Inferiority, what? What a load of balderdash and piffle! See here, Miss Granger, my club fosters excellent opportunity for inter-house socialising—what do you say to that, eh?

Granger was beginning to look a little harassed, so I intervened. 'Horace, we will discuss it further with Mrs Lewis, but ultimately, we will have to wait for the report to be finalised to know where we stand on the matter.'

I can't say I have any particular talent when it comes to being placatory. I never put much effort into my soothing voice; indeed, it is very seldom used. Horace didn't look much appeased, but there we are—disappointment builds strength of character, in my opinion.

'If that is all, Horace, Miss Granger and I have things to discuss.'

Summarily dismissed, the beleaguered Horace huffed and puffed in dissatisfaction, but eventually retreated.

'Will he be all right?' Granger asked after the door closed.

I debated dignifying such an inane remark with a response, but decided I couldn't let it go unpunished. 'No, he's probably contemplating _Avada Kedavra_ as we speak.'

'Are you ever serious?' she asked me impatiently, clearly not amused by my snippy comment.

Serious? I was probably the most serious person I knew. 'Forgive me; I had not considered myself to be such a joker.'

'Have you considered setting up your own one-man show? Maybe perform in the town square in Hogsmeade during lunchtimes?'

I simply stared at her. How dare she make fun of me.

Her face relaxed a fraction. 'I'd come and watch,' she said airily. 'I wouldn't heckle very much.'

I wasn't sure how to respond to her. I certainly wasn't going to sit around trading little jokes and repartee with her. 'What _are_ you blathering on about, Miss Granger? Do we, or do we not, have business to attend to?'

The corner of her mouth lifted. 'Indeed, we do, Professor. Firstly, though, I have had enough of sitting around today. I need to visit the kitchens briefly—shall you accompany me there?'

She wanted to go for a walk? What was I—her pet bloody dog? Or was she mine? Neither possibility appealed to me.

Anything for a peaceful life, I raised my hands in surrender. 'Whatever pleases you, Miss Granger.'

I sounded highly put-upon, but I think she thought I meant my words sincerely, for she looked pleased. Nevertheless, as we walked down to the kitchens, she finally got round to the crux of the matter.'

'No doubt you are aware that the inspection finishes tomorrow, whereupon I shall consult with my fellow inspectors and together we will compile a report. This process should take no longer than one month. When the report is complete, I shall meet with the whole of the staff to discuss the findings and answer any queries anyone may have. I shall also be meeting with the Ministry, of course.'

'I see,' I said blandly, barely able to contain my jubilation at such an exciting prospect.

'You will recall mention made of an annual school report that will be sent to parents. In actual fact, this will be more like a newsletter, in some ways. It will detail school news, achievements, changes, and so forth—really, just to make parents feel more aware about what is going on in the castle.'

Wonderful.

Granger continued unhindered as we travelled through the hallways. 'We hope to get the first one published before the end of the summer term.'

'Am I to put together this _newsletter_?'

'Well… I suppose it is up to you. There's no reason why the responsibility can't be someone else's. Get the students to contribute, and so on.'

Sounded good to me. Being top of the pile was all about one thing—delegation.

'However, we would like for you to write an introductory letter for the first one; indeed, sort of an editorial, if you will. You could continue this for future newsletters by writing a small piece on how the year has gone for instance—giving your own unique view as Head of the school.'

I stared at her in horror, but she was glancing at the portraits that we were passing by.

'You want me to write what?'

She looked at me, oblivious to my internal contempt. 'Just a letter of welcome; maybe say a bit about yourself, for instance.'

She was surely having me on. 'Are you quite insane, Miss Granger?'

'Excuse me?' she spluttered.

'Say a bit about myself? Like what? How about a run down on my—'

'Don't come out with some sarky comment, again, please! I'm not asking for your life story, Merlin forbid! Just… I don't know, _something_.'

She was getting shirty with me now, was she?

We entered the kitchens and she went to speak to a few of the elves. I had no idea what about, and I didn't care. I was too busy fuming. What crap was I going to be forced to write about? And why did I have to mention anything about myself? Though, my claim to privacy was laughable at best. As if no one already knew about the most significant events in my life! I knew what this ridiculous task was all about. It was about making myself _accessible_ —removing the distance that existed between parents and the school.

I sighed. It was just one bloody thing after another.

Granger came back to my side and then exited the kitchens. I followed, actually feeling a little bit like a bloody dog.

'Some photos would be nice in there, too.'

I could do nothing to stop it. I blanched. ' _Photos_?'

She opened a side door that led outside. I made no comment about this for I was too preoccupied with the issue of _photos_. I think she may have glimpsed a look of aversion on my face for she issued a few short chuckles.

'Professor Snape, believe me, I am not expecting your smiling countenance to feature prominently. Though, don't you think a little one of you and Professor McGonagall would look nice on the front page?'

I had been glaring out over the forest, but now I looked to see her biting her lip and suppressing further laughter.

' _Now_ who is to perform in the town square?'

'Fair point,' she conceded.

It was then that I really noticed we were outside—walking to nowhere in particular, it seemed. 'Why have you brought us out here, Miss Granger?' Wariness was now returning.

She shrugged, but there was suddenly an odd look on her face that sounded in me an urge to brace myself.

'Look, about yesterday…'

Oh dear Lord.

'Do you accept, now, that there is nothing underhand at play here?'

I breathed again.

'I will accept there is the possibility of that, but no, I will never be fully convinced until it is done with.' She would not tempt _me_ into complacency.

She nodded to herself. 'Is your day not complete without at least one paranoid thought?'

'Miss Granger,' I growled warningly.

She smiled at me, clearly unaffected by my tone of voice. Her cheek knew no bounds, obviously. She said nothing more, and somewhere inside me I felt a vague pang of disappointment. I swore viciously at myself. Did I actually want her to bring that incident up, despite all my protestations to the contrary? The depths of stupidity to which I sometimes fall never fails to shock me. That moment of realisation is usually enough to get me back on an even keel, as it did me now. I would not spend another thought on that peculiar incident. Not one single thought.

It was only then that I realised Granger was no longer walking in step with me. I paused and glanced behind me to find her standing quite still, looking pensive.

'Problem?' I enquired.

She sucked in her bottom lip as she appeared to deliberate. 'Did you have, ah, paranoid thoughts about what… _else_ happened yesterday?'

So much for my resolve on that subject! I knew to what she was referring, but whether to simply delay, or to prolong any discomfort she might feel, I pleaded ignorance.

'I don't follow.'

I'm not sure she believed me. I should have known though, Gryffindor that she is, that she would find the impetus from somewhere to overcome any disquiet at bringing such a delicate issue up. Indeed, she stepped forward a few paces and looked at me resolutely.

'When I kissed you,' she stated, without faltering, without even self-consciousness.

I was entering into dangerous ground—I just knew it. I should get away from her, I decided. But, maybe out of some disobedient interest I felt, my feet stayed planted where they were.

'Did you think I had some ulterior motive for that, too?'

Of course I did. I wasn't about to admit it to her, though. And yet, I felt I needed to know why she'd done it. Why should she, of all people, do something like that to me, of all people? I couldn't ask her, though. To do so would surely be to admit that I had been bothered by it—affected, even, and that was not the case. I didn't _want_ that to be the case. I started to walk away, but part of me knew that this was the only opportunity I would have. She would be gone, after tomorrow. I could allow myself to be curious, if nothing else, couldn't I?

I paused and turned around. 'Why did you do it?' I asked, endeavouring to keep my voice blank, as if it were no matter of import (and it _wasn't_ —what was I thinking?).

'Why?' she said, with a small smile. She lifted her shoulders. 'Why? Because I wanted to.'

That was no explanation and she knew it, for she suddenly sighed and came closer to me. When she spoke again it was in a rather more animated tone; maybe she had to justify it to herself, too.

'You were standing there, with all your hypotheses about the Ministry. Earlier on in the week you thought I was an active participant in them! I just think it's a shame and a waste to bother yourself over issues that have no basis in fact. I mean, with whatever irascibility and impatience you go about things, not even the Ministry can say that you don't do your job.'

She fixed me with a hard stare, which I actually found difficult to hold. Her tone became more meditative.

'People at Hogwarts like you, you know. Your teachers obviously respect you, which is impressive considering how much older some of them are compared to you, as well as the fact that you were once their student. I asked Professor McGonagall about it and she said to me that it sticks in her throat bitterly every time she takes orders from you. She was clearly joking. I should say she's rather fond of you, in her own way.'

Deep inside some long-repressed part of me, I felt quietly gladdened by such an observation.

'The children are wary of you—afraid to cross you, of course, but they respect you, too. Slytherins talk of you with pride, unsurprisingly. I would venture to suggest that many admire you for what you have achieved—what you have done.'

I thought for a moment. 'That is…actually rather alarming,' I said quietly. I meant it. What kind of role model was I? The worst kind, surely.

She smiled slightly. 'Is it so very bad?' Her expression sobered as she continued speaking. 'A person could not hope to run an institution such as this without the backing of the staff and the respect of the students. _You_ must see the significance of that.'

She was referring to my tenure during Voldemort's reign. It had only been fear that had kept outright rebellion at bay.

'How could the Ministry, then, even _attempt_ to remove you without good reason? They could not.'

Her words made sense—her logic sound. I knew it, and yet doubts such as mine can never be completely swept away; they are part of my very nature. I was grateful to her, though, for I felt I could loosen my grip a little more on those particular doubts, following her words.

'You're a far better motivational speaker than Dumbledore is.' I don't think I even recognised my own voice, then. Why on earth would I say such a thing, and in such a, Merlin, an almost _smooth_ fashion as to make her blush prettily?

'I'm not sure that threatening him with solvents on a regular basis helps his case towards you.'

And she was awfully close, again. It was getting to be a worrisome habit. I could see her eyes clearly sparkle slightly with amusement. She blinked, and they became serious once more.

'I wanted to tell you all this yesterday, to help make you see, but… I didn't know where to start, and, instead, I thought, actions might speak louder than words, as they say.'

She thought I would be able decipher all that from one small peck?

'Of course, I could have kissed you on the cheek…' she added suggestively.

Despite myself, my heart gave a quick thud. Of course, she could have. Hell, she could have done anything—she could have just ignored my self-pity, but no, she'd chosen to kiss me. I recalled her words again about Weasley, and about her recent lassitude, and from that, could only wonder at the highly improbable idea that _I_ had been enough to ignite a spark of interest within Hermione Granger. Was there _anything_ on the earth more improbable than that? Was there?

She was looking at me; I think, waiting for me to give some sort of, indeed, _any_ indication as to what I was thinking. I only stared back, taking in her eyes, her face, her hair, her lips, inwardly screaming at myself for the way I was encouraging… whatever was going on. I knew I should step away, there were so many reasons why I should, but her hand suddenly slid lightly over the back of mine, travelling slowly under my sleeve to encircle my wrist. Any thought I was currently forming suddenly evaporated at her boldness. I wasn't sure I could stand the warm graze of her fingertips, now on the underside of my hand—I felt that I should tremble at any moment, and… I could not allow that. I trapped her fingers in mine so her hand would cease its movements. Unfortunately, she seemed to prefer that more, if the tight way she held on was anything to go by.

'I'm not sure you know quite what you do when you play with me thus,' I warned. I considered that she had very little idea of what she was letting herself in for.

She did not look away. 'That's why I do it—to find out,' she murmured, and I felt my blood heat up in response.

It was ridiculous; I had to come to my senses soon. How had we even got to the point where I could hear her breathing; could see by the rise and fall of her chest that they were increasingly short, quickened breaths, as well as to feel that my own were perilously at risk of getting away from me? She was close enough that I could contemplate putting my arm around her, to bring her in even closer, so that _I_ might kiss her (considering all my previous directions of thought, I accept there was a great deal of irony underlying that contemplation). I don't think I could have imagined what long forgotten thoughts and actions I would entertain during those few moments, much less their source. They were as good as foreign to me, because the position I was in then was hardly one I found myself in with any regularity. And, maybe that was what caused it in the end.

At that point, I could hardly deny there was any interest on my part where she was concerned, otherwise, it should surely have been easy to resist. Indeed, I should have retreated long before, were it so. It may have been the fear of the unknown. Whatever it was, when she grasped my hand even tighter, pulling herself towards me with such a warm look of anticipation on her face, and I found myself leaning towards her in response, it was then that I lost my nerve. I'd even closed my eyes, but only briefly. I'd raised a hand to touch her, but stilled before I could.

Her face was inches from mine and she sensed immediately my hesitation. The small moment of pause was enough for me to recall what should have been uppermost in my thoughts all along. In fact, it disquieted me that I had forgotten something so important so easily.

'What?' Her voice was small, as if she was really feeling disappointment.

But neither that, nor the squeezing, warm pressure of her hand—which, I think, I returned just as tellingly—or the nearness of her was enough to deter me from what should have always have been my first priority.

'You have a job to do, Miss Granger,' I murmured quietly.

So did I. I would not, after all my posturing about the professionalism of the school and my leadership of it, compromise it in such a fashion. And I would let no one else do it either.

I saw a momentary flash of regret in her eyes, but she knew as well as I our situations. 'You're right,' she admitted, looking downwards, and I felt relief that the almost draining connection between us had finally been broken. Her hand was still within mine, and I quickly, inexplicably, entertained the notion of briefly raising her fingers to my lips—the only concession that I could allow to account for any tenderness I felt towards her. I did not, though. I hardly knew where any of this softness of feeling had come from—certainly, this was not the time for me to start exhibiting all the tendencies of a sentimental fool.

She extricated her fingers and held them in her other hand for a moment, looking a little dazed. She breathed deeply and quirked her mouth a little sardonically. 'You're right,' she repeated, nodding to herself.

We stood there for a moment, adjusting, no doubt, and then, well, we couldn't stand there all day.

'I should… get back to my office,' I said, and I'll allow that I said it a little awkwardly. She nodded again in agreement, and there was nothing else for it, but to walk away. So I did. I disappeared back inside feeling infinitely vexed. My own susceptibility towards her had taken me by surprise, and I wondered how she could impress herself upon me in so short a time. Can such a thing spring upon a person so unceremoniously? I hadn't thought I'd felt any conscious attraction for her. Mind, it had been so long since I'd felt any attraction for anyone that if I failed to recognise it, then I'm sure I could be forgiven.

Did I regret having to pass up another 'free smooch' as Phineas so delicately put it? Did I regret that I'd passed up any number of untold possibilities that could have unfolded from that one moment? Maybe. But I considered to do so was to place more weight on the occurrence than was warranted. Attraction may be fleeting, I knew that much. I was a novelty in her existence, and she in mine, and it seemed we both, otherwise, led rather monotonous ones, after all. It might follow from that then that an interest was not so strange an occurrence (I still rather thought it was—it was me and Granger, for Merlin's sake!).

It was nothing to fret over. More important things were at stake and I was resolved to see my responsibilities, and to an extent, hers, as well, remained upheld. I'd been right to put a stop on things—she'd said it so. It would not happen again, and if this resolve meant that I could avoid analysing my own reactions and behaviour towards her, then I would not question it.

She would be gone tomorrow and life would get back to normal.

The thought comforted me. She would be gone and _I_ could get back to normal.

To be sure—the sooner, the better, really.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading : )


	8. Part Eight

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 8**

Hogwarts Newsletter Issue 1, Summer 2005

 _Draco dormiens nunquam titilandus_

 _ **'A New Chapter' — A Letter from the Headmaster (first draft)**_

 _May I take this wonderful opportunity to welcome you to our first (and hopefully last) school newsletter? I have been resident at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in some capacity, for longer than I care to remember. Indeed, I believe I shall probably die here. For any other information on my good self, I suggest you get off your arse and get hold of my chocolate frog card (good luck—I'm one of the rare ones)._

 _School is about the preparation to make a success of one's life—to equip ourselves with the basic skills needed for such an accomplishment, and, at Hogwarts, we're really good at it. Ask any number of our former students now stuck in dead-end jobs, poverty, or Azkaban._

 _Education, as we have mentioned, sets us up for life, and I believe in making the learning process as 'real' as possible. If a student happens to get cursed, so what? A child falls several feet from their broom? All the better. Accidentally imbibed poison? It's all about learning from one's mistakes—the most important lesson of all. As a school, we pride ourselves on giving every child the opportunity to learn and to excel. We are aware that each individual has different skills and talents, just as we are aware that some have none. We call them dunderheads._

 _But school is not only about academics. We have many social activities that will prevent your child developing into a friendless, emotionally-stunted, morose adult. Love to sing—join the choir. Can't hold a note? They'd love to have you anyway. Got a unique talent, famous relative, or money, and want to further your own ends? Join the exclusive Slug Club. Horace will love you for it._

 _Hogwarts is truly a community school. Where would Hogsmeade be without the hoards of marauding children tramping about, stealing, writing graffiti, harassing locals—generally causing chaos? No doubt the way of all other magical villages—extinction. We are its very lifeblood._

 _Our staff are highly committed individuals, intent on raising standards—when they can be arsed, that is. I would like to thank them for all the grief they have given me this past year—they know who they are. Lastly, I could not finish this letter without addressing those which make Hogwarts the place it is—the students. I would like to thank each and every one of them. I thank them for their continuing ignorance in failing to apply themselves; the disrespect; the disregard of the seventh-years by having their pornographic magazines delivered at breakfast (we all know what's in those brown envelopes, boys) and, finally, I thank them for their persistent misbehaviour—for, who else can I get to clean out the Owlery?_

 _Some students are leaving us this year, of course. To a few (read Slytherins), I shall merely say farewell. To the rest—good riddance._

 _I look forward to seeing your child at Hogwarts in the near future._

Professor Severus Snape,

Headmaster

* * *

There it was, then. Hogwarts' inspection was, in the main, complete. I had survived the week more or less unscathed—we'll disregard the whole Granger issue for the moment. The castle was still standing in one piece. None of my teachers had collapsed from the stress of it all. There'd been no tears. No major incident from the students had materialised. All in all, it had gone as well as could have been hoped. From my point of view, I had to be satisfied with that. I was unsure where things were headed following the conclusion of the inspection, but that bridge would be crossed in time.

Having said all that, we still had today to get through, and, after all, it only takes a few minutes for something to go completely tits up. That is precisely why I called a staff meeting on Saturday morning, before our inspectors arrived for the final day. Most of them looked far more relaxed than they had at the beginning of the week, but it was not quite the time to begin celebrating.

'Before we crack open the hard stuff tonight, we have today's Quidditch match still to get through; plus the inspectors will still have a few loose ends to tie up. I know it is the weekend, but we must remain on our guard.'

Most nodded in agreement. Horace refused to look at me, still smarting over the issue of his club.

'Not until we have seen the back of our little friends shall we have cause to celebrate, all right?'

I supposed, then, that I should thank them for the work and effort they'd put in, or most of them had put in, anyway, but… Well, I'd replenished the drinks cabinet—they'd understand when they saw it (I had it under Locking charm 'till tonight).

'Poppy, you shall be required to attend the match today.'

She groaned theatrically. 'You know I _hate_ Quidditch!'

Of course, I did—therein lay the pleasure for me.

'I want you to be immediately on-hand to deal with any injuries that may arise. We cannot simply have those injured dragged off to the sidelines till the end of the match, as we usually do.'

'Fine, but I'm bringing a book.'

'Bring a bloody library with you if it will keep you quiet.'

At that moment, the door knocked and in walked Appleby, followed by the rest of them, Granger bringing up the rear. 'Good mornings' were bandied about, as custom required. I did not allow my attention to tarry for too long on Granger. She only nodded in recognition when her eyes met mine. Jones was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation.

'I hope the match is a real thriller today,' he said to me as the majority of teachers began to disperse.

'I'm afraid our last match ended after only fifteen minutes, Mr Jones.'

His face fell through the floorboards. 'Oh, dear me, that is a disappointment.'

Over Jones' shoulder, I suddenly spotted something on the table that really shouldn't have been there.

'Ah, Minerva?' I called out casually. She was nearest to the offending object.

'What is it?'

'I believe you have left behind some papers.'

'What?' she asked, looking confused.

'Let me assist you, Professor McGonagall,' offered Jones charmingly, but luckily, the twig finally snapped for Minerva, and she rushed towards the table.

'Oh, bless me, yes, this is mine. Thank you, Mr Jones, but I have it now.'

Minerva gave me a meaningful look as she tucked our Quidditch sweepstake chart under her arm and sidled over to a cupboard with it. Thank Merlin the pot of money hadn't been on display.

Oh bloody hell—Granger appeared at my elbow. 'Professor Snape?'

'Yes?'

'Do you mind accompanying me to your office? There are some files I shall need to take with me back to the Ministry. I'd rather collect them now, in case I forget later on.'

I nodded. 'Very well.'

Just as long as it wasn't a ploy to get me alone. I scoffed at myself. Was that not one of the most ridiculous thoughts I had ever conceived? I certainly considered it so. What did I expect her to do? We were both individuals possessed of higher functions that exercised control over baser instincts. She was not going to suddenly throw herself at me, just because she'd shown a smidge of interest in me the day before! And smidge was the operative word. I didn't really know what her purpose was. I'd hypothesised that she might be desperate, and I had no concrete reason to abandon such considerations.

As for me, well, I wasn't sure of what my baser instincts actually wanted, believe it or not. Following yesterday's antics, I could not have anticipated what I might feel when next I saw her, but feel something, I supposed I must. So, when I saw her come into the staff room today, I daresay some part of me registered the incident more closely than it should. But I could handle it. That I, perhaps, had an urge to speak with her, well, I could handle that, too. I could not deny that I enjoyed very much to rankle her, regardless of how I felt.

In some way, I suppose this was attraction, the seeds of which, perhaps, had been planted that day, weeks ago, when she'd announced herself as the chief inspector. I have heard that these things may happen on first acquaintance (we may say re-acquaintance, here). In actual fact, I _knew_ these things could happen. Had I not been enthralled on first acquaintance by Lily Evans? Though, the situations were much different, of course, and I'd hesitate to use the term 'enthralled' in this instance. This was not me turning into a lovelorn fool. This was about, well not even only physical attraction, really, it was finding myself in curious empathy with another person. Was that worse? I could accept it far better than being enthralled unconditionally. That the person should be Hermione Granger, my former student, well, I admit it gave me pause, but maybe I could accept that, too, eventually.

To what end was all this meditation, though? In reality, I knew not. Did I want anything? (I really hated that she made me think this way). With distance between us, attraction would fade, but the possibility of friendship… Was that realistic? We had shared experience to build on… Because, while she remained under the employ of the Office for Standards in Education, and I in Hogwarts, there could never be anything more, even if it transpired we both wanted it (I highly doubted the possibility, nevertheless). But even the remotest hint that we were involved could prove costly to one or both of us.

I glanced at her as we left the staff room for my office. I knew how most entanglements went—fleetingly. She was young, and by her own decree, at times bored and unhappy. I had no interest in being a short-term palliative for that. No disrespect to her, but I wasn't sure it would be worth it. Risk was a game I'd abandoned for good the day I was plucked from the brink of death. Adventure may be lost, excitement hard to come by, but it was a life to live, nevertheless, and I had learned to be grateful for it.

She was silent as we walked, apparently in no hurry to talk. It was only mildly uncomfortable. I made to turn my thoughts away from her and let my mind wander aimlessly, instead. As we passed down a hallway, I noticed a group of boys at the far end. To the untrained eye, it looked nothing out of the ordinary, but I knew. Without their house colours on, it was difficult to place them, but after a few moments, I fancied I knew them. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They were… There it was— a wand arm flung out and a spell unleashed, completely off target, noisily hitting a suit of armour and ricocheting at speed. I had my own wand out and a Shield charm cast before the hex could reach us.

Granger turned a look of surprise onto me. 'I suppose I can forgive you for letting me get thumped on the head with a football, now,' she said.

Ah, I'd forgot that incident. To recall it, though, brought back a fair amount of amusement.

'Remind me to put that memory into a Pensieve while it's still fresh, will you?'

Oh, but she did not like that one bit! How delightful!

I turned my attention to the boys and hissed at them, 'Stay where you are!' The culprits looked between themselves guiltily.

'Mr Baldwin, if you are stupid enough to break the rule of no magic in the corridors, while I am _in_ said corridor, then I can only think that you do not deserve to go to the match this afternoon. You will join Mr Filch in carrying out his tasks.'

' _Sir_ —'

'Ten points each shall be deducted for the rest of you. Now, I'll hear no more. See that you behave.'

Bunch of idiots.

On the plus side, Granger had noticed I was capable of being chivalrous. She'd better savour it as she wouldn't see it rearing its ugly head very often! That much was a given.

When we arrived at my office, Phineas' voice drifted down from above. 'Come back for a quiet five minutes, have you? Would you like us to leave you alone?'

I only stared. He would pay for that one, I'd make sure of it. Perhaps sensing that I was close to maiming a portrait, Granger spoke up in calm tones.

'That will not be necessary, sir.'

Dumbledore looked visibly disappointed.

'See, Miss Granger, what you've done? What I have to put up with?' I muttered to her impatiently, as I collected up the folders.

'I begin to see the necessity of solvents,' she said in an undertone.

Finally, someone on my side!

I handed her the files and she shrunk them down, placing them within the handbag she carried. And then it was awkward again. What to say? Why did I even care about saying anything?

'What, ah, what will you do when the inspection is over? Back to Magical Creatures?' Now she would think I was interested in her future. Nice one, Snape.

'The future of the Office for Standards in Education is undecided, at present, but depending on what the Ministry decide, I shall probably continue with both. Inspections are likely to only be held every five years or so, you see.'

She brushed her hair behind her ear, and it struck me that she was a little more tense than she usually was. Was it my fault? Ugh, I did not know, and I was beginning to feel fed up of second-guessing everything. Tomorrow would be a much easier day, I decided.

* * *

Some of us gathered in the staff room prior to heading out to the Quidditch pitch. Unwillingly, my eyes were drawn to Granger while she conversed with Minerva—not for any reason other than I was trying to fathom her out. She'd gone off somewhere following the retrieval of her files, and I'd managed to pass a few hours where I'd successfully blocked her from my mind. It was a mistake to let her occupy it, I knew. For that reason, I longed for her departure. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

Jones approached me and, for about the first time since becoming acquainted with the man, I was grateful for his intrusion.

'How I envy those players getting on their brooms today.' He sighed pensively.

All right, maybe I wasn't so grateful, after all. I made a sound of disinterested agreement.

'I do love flying,' he continued, oblivious to my disinterest. 'It has to be one of the most exhilarating experiences there is.'

I did agree with him there.

'My broom is one of my most prized possessions, indeed. I hear the Cleansweeps are making a comeback, you know. My advice to you, Professor, is put your money on a Cleansweep—Firebolts are out.'

'I don't own a broom,' I commented distantly, my attention drifting back to my earlier preoccupation.

'You don't own a broom? Well, bless me—you don't like to fly?'

Granger was standing on her own now. 'No, I have no need of one to fly.'

'Excuse me?'

I turned my full attention to Jones, who looked fairly dumbfounded. It was then that I wished I had erred on the side of caution. 'I, ah, fly unaided.'

Please don't ask me where I learned.

'Good gracious me!' He looked at me rather warily.

'So, ah, have you ever considered refereeing? Your injury allows that?' I asked, aiming to divert the subject.

'Oh, indeed, I've given it a go. I declare, I much prefer being involved in the action, though, as I'm sure you can appreciate, what with your past experience as a rugby player. Injury can be the bane of one's life, can it not?'

'Rugby?' came an inquisitive and disbelieving voice behind me. A voice that made me still. 'Professor Snape, I confess myself intrigued.'

I turned towards her. The raising of her eyebrow and small lift of her lips told me she believed not a jot of it. Merlin, if she dropped me in it…!

'Yes, Miss Granger—I have some experience with the sport.'

'I see, and what position did you play?'

She would regret this. I had _no_ bloody idea as to what position I might have played.

'I should say, judging from your build, that you were one of the backs.'

I'd never again think badly of Jeremiah Jones. 'You are, indeed, correct, Mr Jones.'

'I knew it!' he beamed happily.

Granger remained sceptical.

'Well, I believe it's time to go to the stands,' I said quickly, before Granger could comment further. I swept from the room and into the hallway. She'd better not… But there she was—trotting to keep up by my side.

'If you're a rugby player, I'm a Hinkypunk!' she hissed with a smirk.

Luckily, the others were several paces behind. 'Do you know? I wondered what it was I found so familiar about you—now I know.'

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. 'Are you implying I look like a Hinkypunk?'

'Are you implying I am a liar?'

'I should think it very likely!'

Bothersome girl! 'I assure you, Miss Granger, that if you are in any doubt as to my rugby skills, then you are welcome anytime to partake of a demonstration of my tackling abilities.'

Well, there's not much I can say in my defence on this score, is there? It was a blunder of the first order.

Had there been any witnesses to that subsequent scene where our steps faltered and silence quickly descended, they might also suggest that I blushed at my own insinuation. I maintain to this day that I did not, however. I did pause and call out to Minerva, pretending that there was some issue that needed discussion. My aim was achieved—I became separated from Miss Granger's company. Indeed, I made sure I avoided her all the way to the stands (clearly, I could no longer trust myself in her presence).

Unfortunately, disaster occurred as we filed into the stand. Granger and the other inspectors paused, unsure of where they should put themselves. I ignored them, and brushed past to my usual seat. Minerva, of course, went and put her bloody huge foot right in it.

'Along there will be fine, Miss Granger, next to Severus. I'll sit in front,' she said, heading for the bench.

'Many thanks, Minerva!' I hissed to myself angrily.

I spotted Poppy lurking on the end of the very front bench, so I leant forward and poked Minerva in the shoulder. 'Tell Poppy to get her bloody head out of that book and down onto the sidelines!'

When the message finally reached the matron, she stood up, snapped her book shut, and glared at me fiercely as she marched towards the stairs. Had she less decorum, she may have sent me a rude gesture. I only drummed my fingers on my leg as Granger sat down beside me. Filius sat on my other side, on a pile of cushions.

'Since I got hit by a football, I hope it does not follow that I will be hit by a Bludger today,' sounded Granger to my left.

'I can't promise anything,' I muttered, eyes firmly forward at the teams gathering in the sky.

She huffed a little.

The match got underway and, eventually, I forgot all about the trouble next to me. Jones was well into it, cheering his head off in the way only he could. I enjoy a bit of Quidditch now and again, though I took far more enjoyment from it when I was Head of House. Being neutral in such cases did not agree with me—it was not the same! I maintained my responsibility, though, and on the bright side, I could brush off any teasing from Minerva when Slytherin lost, by taking the high road and preaching my unwavering lack of bias. I think she missed the competition, too, mind. Horace was just not as into the whole thing, and Pomona and Filius, unfortunately, would never allow things to get nasty.

One area of competition remained, however. Our sweepstake. Minerva liked to think she could anticipate the outcomes of matches better than I. I patently thought otherwise. So, while, for the others, bets were a bit of fun, for Minerva and me, there was pride at stake. Neither of us had won the pot after the last two matches, but I had it on good authority that the standings over the last few years were in my favour.

At sixty—forty to Ravenclaw, we reached a point where Minerva could win. I saw her hit her leg with impatience, when Ravenclaw began to run away with it, and as the score clocked up to ninety—forty, I willed the Ravenclaw Seeker to catch the Snitch before any more Quaffles could go in. They scored again. 'Catch it!' I chanted to myself—I was still the closest out of anyone.

'Catch it!' For crying out loud—even I could see the bloody Snitch!

Finally, a roar went up around the stadium, and the Seekers had come to their senses. I thought for a moment the Hufflepuff Seeker would get the snitch, but no, it was over, and Ravenclaw had won.

The pot of money was mine.

'Well, then, Minerva,' I said in my silkiest voice, leaning forward. 'What shall I buy with my winnings? How about that bottle of vintage Scotch Rosemerta has down the pub—the one you've been fancying? Maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll let you try some—a sip.'

'Bugger off!' she muttered to me in a disgruntled voice.

I leant back, but smug satisfaction was soon wiped from my face, when Granger, whom I'd forgotten, said lightly, 'Do I get an invitation if I'm a good girl, too?'

I narrowed my eyes at her, not really knowing what to say.

She only smiled, infuriatingly. 'I saw your chart in the staff room, you know.'

Insufferable bloody woman. No, she would _not_ be enjoying my Scotch.

Following the match, the staff repaired to the staff room, where, ostensibly the celebrations would begin. The inspectors were not quite gone yet, though. They were making use of a classroom to have a quick 'debrief' as Granger called it. They intended to join us for refreshment, and then would leave before dinner. An occasion which I knew many of the teachers were anticipating. Despite the general affability of the inspectors, the fact remained that they were inspectors.

I had to remind many of them that we were not out of the woods yet. Regardless of my words, light-heartedness seemed to abound, a product of the imminent prospect of relief. I was sure hangovers would prevail tomorrow. Though, at least it wasn't my job to dispense the hangover remedies anymore. My office has, in the past, resembled a walk-in surgery.

'Where are my winnings, then?' I demanded of the room at large.

'Ugh!' groaned Rolanda. 'How many times have you won the pot, now? I swear, you're a cheat!'

'Stop your blustering and give it to me.'

She nearly threw the pot at me, but evidently thought better of it, dumping it into my lap instead. I shrunk it down and placed it comfortably within my robes. Minerva eyed me with distaste.

'Roll on tomorrow,' said Pomona with a sigh, collapsing heavily into a chair. 'I can't wait to be able to _relax_!'

'But the worrying is still not over, is it?' lamented Filius. 'We've got about a month to live in ignorance.'

'No one had a disaster this week, though,' offered Rolanda diplomatically. 'Not even Sybill,' she added in a whisper, though the daft bat wasn't present, of course.

'One might say that 'disaster' and 'Sybill' are one and the same,' said Minerva dryly.

There were a few titters. 'I'm, frankly, shocked Minerva, that you would refer to your colleague in such a low manner.'

'Bugger off, Severus—you tried to send her to Scarborough for the week!'

Shocked faces turned to me. That little incident hadn't been generally known—until now. 'Thank you, Minerva,' I said stiffly.

'Tried to tell her she'd won a competition, he did.'

There were several cackles of laughter. I scowled to myself. Minerva had best be on her guard henceforth, I decided.

'I'm just dreading the news about my club,' moaned Horace.

We all ignored him.

'We'll be fine,' assured Minerva confidently. 'I've found Miss Granger to be very positive. Mr Appleby, too, has been very agreeable. I'm sure he has been impressed.'

Oh dear—she'd gifted it to me on a plate. 'You _would_ think him agreeable,' I said with a snort. 'I recall how you told me of the _tendre_ you nursed for him when you were his student.'

Minerva shifted in her chair towards me, an expression of pure outrage on her face, as chuckles emanated from around the room. 'Why on earth would I tell _you_ something like that?' she questioned dismissively. Two spots of colour glowed on her cheeks, nevertheless.

I was well into my stride. 'Did you not offer to use your feminine wiles on him, were the inspection to go down the toilet?'

'Severus! I did not!' she gasped in incredulity.

Pomona was clutching her stomach. 'Do you know what, Minerva? I think I can see what you saw in him!'

'I did not!' Minerva repeated furiously.

Rolanda sighed. 'If I'd known that was our strategy, I wouldn't have minded having a crack at Mr Jones.'

'Nor me, considering that Minerva's snapped up Mr Appleby!' Pomona chuckled at length.

'Haven't been working your magic on Miss Granger, have you, Severus? asked Rolanda dryly. 'She's looked pretty cheerful this week!'

I felt my eyes widen at her suggestion, but Minerva had spoken, attracting the attention. 'As if he could!' she snapped. 'Probably slipped her something questionable, more like.'

I took no offence. I'd annoyed her quite comprehensively—it was to be expected. 'I'll have you know I can be charming when I want to be, Minerva. I have ways and means—I just choose not to employ them on you.'

Minerva made a noise of disbelief, and a few of the others snickered. Ha! They thought I was joking, but apparently, I really did have ways and means. I had no idea what they were, of course. Indeed, I could not hazard even the remotest guess, really, but there was something.

About ten minutes later, the door opened and Appleby entered, followed closely by Mrs Lewis, and Jones.

It was at this point that things began to take a rather bizarre turn. There was nothing to be read into the fact that I immediately noticed Granger was missing—her absence was conspicuous to anyone.

'Where's Miss Granger?' Minerva enquired, ever concerned about her darling former student.

'She said there was one more file to collect from Professor Snape.'

I glanced at him. That was interesting. She knew I was not in my office. She would not be able to get past the gargoyle. Minerva demanded that I go and find her, and so I excused myself. I headed towards my office, but as I walked along the ground floor, towards the grand staircase, I discovered her leaning on a windowsill, looking out into a courtyard.

'Miss Granger, I believe you wanted another file?'

Her head snapped towards mine in surprise, but her expression was closed, uncharacteristically so, one might suggest. I didn't ponder on it; I simply carried on walking to the stone gargoyle. She followed silently behind. Increasingly, as the silence went on, I began to consider that something was amiss with her. She'd been fairly bright all morning, after all. Was she slipping into one of her reflective moods? Disheartened, maybe, by the fact that soon she would be ensconced at her desk in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures. And yet, had she not resolved to make the best of her situation? Furthermore, regardless of how often inspections were carried out, if the Office for Standards in Education became a functioning department, they could well decide to keep her there full-time.

Why was I even bothering to fathom it? It was not my problem.

I collected the file that she asked for and handed it to her. She stuffed it into bag she carried. Again, her countenance was rather stony.

'Thank you,' she said in a clipped voice, and without further ado, spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Was that _it_?

Well, fine; I would not question her obvious disgruntled demeanour. I was in no desire to get into one of those twisty conversations with her. She could go. I watched her departure openly, wondering if she could sense my eyes upon her.

Perhaps she did, for she suddenly halted. When she looked over her shoulder, her expression was of such accusation that I confess to feeling slightly taken aback.

She bit her lip as she turned to face me fully. 'Your _ploy_ didn't work, you know.' Her tone of voice was triumphant.

'Excuse me?'

'It didn't work!'

What in the name of arse was she talking about? 'You are talking in riddles, Miss Granger,' I declared in a bored voice, which served to infuriate her.

And thus she revealed her issue. She had overheard us talking in the staff room, just now, she said. 'You actually planned to… seduce me, did you?'

For my own part, I nearly burst out laughing. It's not often that I get the urge to indulge in a bout of laughter, and I admit I regretted that I could not, in good conscience, indulge in it now. Instead, I frowned. 'Have you ever heard of having a joke? Good-natured teasing?'

She remained unconvinced; she nodded her head bitterly. 'Oh, I've no doubt that with regards to Professor McGonagall, it was a joke. It wasn't with you, though, was it? No! It was the bloody truth! You hoped to make me more amenable to your situation!'

I was quickly losing patience with her ridiculousness. I stepped towards her with an air of contemplation. 'Do you know, I've never thought about it before, but yes…' I paused and fixed her with an unblinking glare, and my voice was full of scorn. 'I must seem the very _essence_ of a sexual predator!'

Merlin, the idea was laughable. I was many things, but _that_? I would not have the first idea where to begin.

'You're right, Miss Granger. I am the very worst of blackguards in that respect. Why, sometimes, I only have to click my fingers and poor damsels fall at my feet!'

Her fury only increased, while I, I confess, was beginning to enjoy myself.

'Don't mock me!'

'Go on then, enlighten me as to how I did it. What is your grand theory?'

She answered readily. 'You're a Slytherin—you did it in the most cunning way possible. You made it appear that it was _me_ doing the chasing! You antagonised me because you knew it would infuriate me and make me take notice of you! Why else did you then decide to stand around listening to my woes in an almost empathetic way? You should have ignored me, but you did not, and it made me think twice about you. What you wanted, I'm sure. And the best bit, your trump card, was all that crap you told me about your conspiracy theories! You wanted to make me feel indignation on your behalf—make me think, 'Here is this man who is trying his best and will always be second-guessed by others; this man who believes himself responsible for driving away students'! And what do you know? I did feel indignation, and—' She clamped her mouth shut.

I was speechless. I had no idea whether to be angry, offended, disappointed… I just couldn't believe she had conjured all that up from one evidently throwaway remark she had overheard.

'To think I actually liked you,' she muttered to herself, shaking her head as if disgusted with her own stupidity.

That made me take several quick steps towards her, and if she flinched in surprise, well, I didn't care. 'I will tell you this only once, Miss Granger,' I said in deadly voice. 'I have not sought to procure your affections under _any_ circumstance. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you do have them, then it is your misfortune to have developed them most independently.' I leant my shoulders downwards a fraction, so we were on more of an eye-level. 'Let us think of it this way. Why should I resort to such, admittedly, underhand and convoluted tactics? I should only do so were I hiding some big secret, or maintaining some big cover-up.'

She refused to move her gaze from mine, defiance personified, but I fancied I sensed a speck of doubt mar those eyes of hers.

'Perhaps you just didn't want to take any chances.'

I made a soft noise of disagreement in my throat. 'Oh, that will never do, Miss Granger.' I straightened and allowed myself a smirk as I did so. She did not look at me now.

I placed a finger under her chin and drew it slowly under her jaw until it reached the tip of her chin, tilting her head upwards. Those eyes were defiant again. 'You know what this means, don't you, Miss Granger?' I said in a soft whisper of dry pity. 'You're just as paranoid as I am.'

She blinked, and her expression faltered to one of sudden unease, and then she turned and left me.

I stood still, unmoving, and might have stood there uselessly for much longer had a voice not cut through the haze of my mind.

'Merlin! You've got yourself a little firecracker there, Severus!'

I had my wand out and aimed at the interference without thinking about it. Dumbledore shrank back in his portrait. 'You talk twaddle, old man! I haven't got myself an anything, and neither do I intend to. You'd do well to remember it.'

I stormed up the stairs, flicked my wand, and marched into my chambers. How dare she accuse me of such a thing? _Silly_ girl! It seemed to me that I had had a very narrow escape. Fancy getting myself entangled with a woman as ridiculous as she? What did I need with such an irrational woman when I had more than enough irrationality on my own?

More pressingly, what did it mean for the inspection? Should I expect a call from Ministry officials any time soon, following up a complaint from Granger about my supposed conduct? Would she let herself be influenced by this when writing up the report? Surely she had more sense in her than that? She would see her stupidity—she'd better see it, or…

 _This_ was why having her as the chief inspector had been a bad decision from the off. Had I not felt a sense of foreboding as soon as I'd clapped eyes on her that day, two months ago? I'd considered her attachment to the castle a plus, but I had not reckoned on the benefits of being wholly detached from the situation. She, clearly, was too involved, regardless of when the last time she had set foot in the castle was. She knew its occupants—we had a shared past, to an extent, that was bound to influence interactions. We should not have got into irritatingly personal conversations, had it been any other way.

And now it had gone tits up.

And if Minerva ever found out what had gone on between Granger and me (which well she might), and what, potentially, we had compromised, I was sure she would cheerfully kill me.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading : )


	9. Part Nine

**An Inspector Calls**

 _All characters belong to J. K. Rowling._

 **Part 9**

I must admit that the weeks following the end of the inspection were of no easy consequence for me. No immediate word transpired from the Ministry as to any accusations Granger may have levelled towards me, and thus I concluded that she'd so far kept her thoughts to herself. Therefore, no one else had any idea of how our last meeting had been enacted, apart from the portraits. Whether this would remain so following the publication of the report, I could not say.

I'm sure one can appreciate that I did not enjoy being held, in a manner of speaking, to ransom by Miss Granger. I did not know her intentions, but I would not contact her to find out. There were reasons why I would not demand to see her, to put my defence across, again. For one, the whole idea of what she'd accused me of was just so preposterous that I felt it beneath me to dignify it with another response. But, perhaps more importantly, I considered that further defence was not warranted. After several days of mulling over it, this was what I decided.

I am readily accused of pessimism, paranoia, negativity of thought, and so on, and people are right to do so, but, on occasion, I _am_ capable of generosity of thought—giving what is called the benefit of the doubt. I dislike thinking in such brittle terms, for I prefer to deal in absolutes, not maybes and what ifs, but in this case, I decided that were I to give Miss Granger the benefit of _my_ doubt, then there was a good chance I would not go far wrong.

We are all at the mercy of our emotions, and are liable to act in stupid ways given certain situations. Some rather more than others, of course, but I cannot deny that there have been times when _I_ have overreacted, or have been blind to certain truths. Our wonderful friend hindsight helps us in that respect, and so I wondered that, with the help of hindsight, Miss Granger might have realised her mistake in jumping to such erroneous conclusions. She struck me as someone who generally practised rational thought, and if that state would prevail once more, I rather thought she would see her fanciful imaginings for what they were. Why she should ever entertain them in the first place was for her to decide. I would not speculate on such matters.

It came to pass that about a week or so following the conclusion of the inspection, I received what appeared to be confirmation of my reflections—a short note from one Hermione Granger.

'Dear Professor Snape,' she said. 'I wish to apologise for the way I spoke to you at our last meeting. I realise that I may have overreacted, and in doing so, said some things that were objectionable. I am sorry for any offence I may have caused.'

May have overreacted? _May_ have overreacted? There was no may about it—she _had_ overreacted! I crumpled up the missive—terse, aloof missive that it was—and threw it into the bin where it could languish with the discarded drafts of my welcome letter (ten drafts, so far, in fact). So I now had some confirmation that she saw the ridiculousness of her behaviour, but, frustratingly, it didn't seem to be the end of the matter.

I tried to put it from my mind—all of it. I remembered my earlier resolves that once she was gone, my mind would be easy once more. That was _before_ our altercation, of course. Still, I had to wonder whether I should have forgotten her easily had she _not_ left in such high dudgeon. Staff members often made mention of the prospect of the inspection report. If some problem or disaster occurred, it was often followed by the refrain of, 'Thank Merlin the inspectors weren't here to see it!' Therefore, even if I'd successfully managed to empty my mind of her, there was always some reminder to bring her back.

The most troubling part of it all was when I let myself contemplate as to how her accusations might have changed my view of her. I should like to say that I felt apathetic towards her, or contemptuous of her and her nonsense—that would have been a blessing; logical. Instead, I felt… disappointed—displeased. It had taken me a while to pin it down, but yes, it was disappointment. To me, it seemed superfluous and _ill_ ogical.

What was the point? Nothing was changed, not really. She was still gone, as she would have been, regardless. She was gone without any prospect that we might cross paths again, beyond inspection-related meetings, as I had known would always be the case. It was completely pointless to ponder over it. I should have been scornful of her, as I had been at the start. Why, then, did I allow myself to feel disappointment?

Was it because I had her _'To think I actually liked you'_ echoing about my head at inopportune moments? There was a lot to read into it. It was confirmation that she had actually liked me, and had not merely been desperate—had not been looking for fun at my expense. The fact that it bothered me, could only mean that I wanted Miss Granger to think well of me, and that was truly frightening. That I should give a care to what she thought, I could only surmise that I must be losing my grip. A softening of the brain, maybe.

That I was losing my touch appeared to be confirmed when I found out it was noticeable. Minerva had invited herself to take tea in my office, one day, and enquired as to if I were worried.

'You seem a little withdrawn, Severus, even more than usual. Are you really so concerned about the publication of the report?'

I told her I was fine, bridling at myself for letting my behaviour become affected.

'You're getting the rest of the staff to feel tense, you know. We all noticed how, when Sybill tripped over her own robes in the staff room yesterday, you failed to even crack a smirk, let alone a cutting remark. Even Sybill was surprised.'

This was about midway through the proposed month that Miss Granger had specified would take for the report to be complete, and I resolved that I would get my act back together. I was surrounded by people day in day out, that I should feel the loss of her particular presence was…stupid, and I _felt_ stupid. But I had taken special enjoyment in employing my particular brand of conversation with her, indeed, I had made special effort with it. I could tease the others, but it was almost second nature with them, and none of them responded nearly so well. Minerva sometimes did, but I wasn't attracted to her, so it was a moot point.

But such thoughts should be the domain of others, not me. I could get on with it—had endless practice of it.

I was not to put her from my mind for long, however. In due course, as the days fell away, I eventually received notification of Granger's visit, and, finally, a copy of the final inspection report. There it was suddenly, on my desk. Not really of a particularly nervy disposition, I dived right in. At first glance, it looked promising. Effectiveness of the school was considered 'very good'. Standards achieved by the pupils were 'very good', too. Though, glancing through the more detailed subsections, it was clear that certain parts of the curriculum were performing better than others.

Oh dear; the attitudes and behaviour of the students were deemed 'excellent'. What on earth could I criticise them for now? She had to take all of my fun away, didn't she? _'There are signs of good rapport and respect in the relationship between students and teachers?'_ Was that meant to be a joke?

Ah, here we go. Leadership and management—'very good'. Well, no doubt I'd take that over a 'satisfactory' or 'poor' any day. Still, I was intrigued to see where they thought the improvement lay. _'The Headmaster is ably supported by his deputy.'_ Merlin, that was a tough one to swallow.

I read on. The bulk of the report focused on the main issue of quality of education provided, and generally, it was praiseworthy, especially towards the core subjects. For History of Magic, standards were only 'satisfactory with some shortcomings'. Teaching was considered 'too rigid' with not enough emphasis on getting the students involved in lessons. I wasn't sure what would happen with that. It would fall upon me to speak to Binns, no doubt, but, like as not, he wouldn't give a fig about it. Divination, well, I need not elaborate—it was not good.

It was to be expected, but I wondered whether it could ever be otherwise. I supposed Sybill could be the best teacher there ever was, but Divination, well, it was a stretch to even call it a discipline. How could you possibly teach children about 'signs' and 'portents' when no one believed in their relevance? It was recommended in the report that Sybill take part in some sort of training course. What the bloody hell was that?

Other points of praise were on the supportive role of the prefects towards the younger students; the opportunities to play sport (ha! Minerva would have to get a pat on the back for that one); the library; good use of resources, and so on.

Some other recommendations included: allowing parents to be more involved (like hell!); the encouraging of more collaborative or group work between students in lessons (I recalled that Granger had _plentiful_ experience with 'collaborative work' from her student days, usually having gone against _my_ wishes!); more emphasis on the importance of leading healthy lifestyles would be helpful (what else had the salad been for?).

There was also a rather lengthy exposition on the role of the Head of House, implying that there were improvements to be made in that area to 'enhance' the role. Specifically on the area of 'care' and 'support.'

I did look for one, just to check, but Granger had not added a footnote anywhere declaring me a lecherous cad.

The report was rather comprehensive, and it would take a while to digest it all, but on the whole, there appeared to be no one glaring issue to deal with, but rather several points that simply needed sharpening. It surprised me a little, but as I read through the judgements, I did not feel the indignation or animosity that I'd anticipated at the onset of this process, when the thought of being told what to do by some upstarts had stuck so bitterly my throat. I disagreed with some points, certainly, and still rather felt that the exercise was limited—how can accurate verdict really be passed on a school from witnessing only one week from many? But I could stomach it, and that was the most important thing.

And how did I feel about my so-called 'conspiracy theories' now? I thought the Ministry would be content with this report. Only time would tell as to what effect, if any, it would have on the main issue of the trend of parents electing not to send their children to Hogwarts. And only time would tell whether I would end up being held accountable if the trend were not reversed by these reforms.

I placed several copies of the report in the staff room, and there was a veritable stampede towards them when word got around that the report was published. Horace ripped through the pages for news of his club.

'Horace!' I sighed. 'Just take heart from that fact that Potions was singled out for its standard of achievement, and that your _thriftiness_ with public funds has been passed over—forget about your damned club!'

I'd never get through to him.

I had no doubt they were all very pleased by the contents of the report—none of them had any particular reason to feel disappointed. Even Minerva, never one for letting her hair down, metaphorically or literally, looked satisfied in that prim way of hers.

'The ship is still afloat then, Severus. I told you Miss Granger would not fail us.'

I didn't even bother to argue the point. I should have pointed out that it was on the merit of the school alone that we had not failed, not on any strength of Miss Granger's, but I just nodded.

As for Sybill, well, she was stuck up in her tower, as usual. Someone would have to go and speak to her, and that responsibility, unfortunately, would be mine. I'd have to dust off my inadequate soothing voice again.

And so, the following day, Granger returned. I sent Minerva to go and collect her from the Entrance Hall, having no wish to do it myself. We all sat around the table in the staff room, waiting for her, and I couldn't help but recall the similar meeting we'd had three months ago, when I'd taken every opportunity to undermine her. This time, well, I had not much desire to say anything. She came in, all smiles for everyone, and her smile faltered only slightly as she made her way to the empty chair between Mineva and me.

'Good afternoon, Professor Snape,' she murmured, as she sat. I only nodded.

I think she noticed Sybill wasn't present, for when I chanced to glance in her direction, her expression was troubled as she looked around the table. Unfortunately, she caught me looking. From then on, I kept my gaze on my hands resting on the table.

'There will always be difficulty,' she said, commencing the discussion, 'when trying to determine the effectiveness of a school such as Hogwarts, simply because there is no other school to compare it to. It is not practical to compare with foreign schools, across different curriculums and contexts. But we believe that we have judged as best we can, as I hope you will all agree.'

She proceeded to give a summary of the report, lingering, mostly, on the areas highlighted for improvement. An observer might comment that I appeared as though I wasn't listening, or that I wasn't interested in what she was saying. They could not have been more wrong. She went through the recommendations, and though I should have liked to remain silent, I could not, of course. It would be my job to implement them—there were questions to be asked. When I spoke, I only glanced at her occasionally, opting to occupy myself with writing apparently important observations on my parchment.

There followed an opportunity for the other professors to ask questions with regard to the feedback. Granger sometimes fiddled with her files as she spoke. I kept my eyes on the table. My relief and pleasure at having come through the inspection was secondary to something else entirely. That only served to make me feel cross and restless.

'All that remains for me to say is that this is the last time you shall see me in this capacity.'

My blood ran cold. What was she playing at now? Several questioning murmurs arose around the table.

'As you know, this was, originally, a pilot scheme, but since it has been deemed a potential success, the Ministry would like to make it more permanent. I, of course, have duties to attend to elsewhere, though I hasten to assure you that whoever ends up taking this position will be fully versed in all details of the job. Indeed, I think you may be quite confident that relationship between the school and the Office for Standards in Education will become a mutually beneficial one. I have it on good authority that my fellow inspectors will be remaining with the office.'

I couldn't hear what talk next went on. She'd resigned her position as chief inspector? How _dare_ she? Merlin, but she made my blood boil, sometimes!

I sat back in my seat, still refusing to look at her. I dimly heard her enquire as to Sybill, and whether she should go and speak to her. Minerva assured her that the Divination teacher would not see anyone at present. Granger sounded regretful; how I wished that I could crow over her and tell her, 'Well done—you did manage to upset at least one teacher!' But I could not—didn't even want to, really.

Then she was taking her leave, with Minerva offering to show her out.

'Goodbye, sir,' she said quietly, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort audible. I looked up sharply, a little surprised to be distracted from my thoughts. She was leaving, then. For whatever reason, I did not reply. I merely looked away, an epitome of indifference, but in truth, quite the contrary.

The closing of the staff room door brought me back to myself. She would not say anything further—she was going. What to do? I wrenched back my chair with a screech, stood up, and stormed towards the door, uncaring of the surprised faces following my movement. I was not standing for this; by Merlin, I was not.

'What's wrong with him?' someone muttered.

'Minerva,' I called down the corridor. 'I should like to speak to Miss Granger before she leaves.'

They both turned and looked at me in surprise. Minerva glanced between Granger and me. 'Oh,' she said slowly. 'Very well, then.'

She walked past me, giving me a curious look as she did so, but I ignored her as she went back inside the staff room. Granger, for some reason, made to keep walking, but I shortened the distance between us in no time.

'Tell me,' I hissed, as we walked. 'Why are you quitting what you once saw as a potential new career, for one that only weeks ago nearly had you in tears? Hmm? I am disappointed in you, Miss Granger. Found sudden comfort in your _debilitating monotony_ , have we?'

She paused her step and looked at her feet for a few moments. In time, she looked at me fully, but did not say anything.

'You led me to believe you could continue with both.' I sounded like I was accusing her, and I suppose I was.

'Circumstances have changed…' She smiled a small smile at me. As much as it pains me to say, I was happy to see it; indeed, some of my impatience dissolved at it. 'I took your advice. I tried harder. I went to my supervisor and told him that if he did not at least consider my proposal, I would quit. Presumptuous of me, I know, but they know that I am a good worker, regardless of what I am given. Maybe, they took note of my work in setting up the Office for Standards in Education, but they've promoted me into policy-making, and, well, it is probably right that this job is given to someone better qualified, as I'm sure you would agree.'

She was not reproachful, just matter of fact. I felt rather… odd. I couldn't bring myself to say anything, even though I had a thousand and one thoughts rushing through my mind. Really, any trifling thing would have done. A brief, 'well done,' for instance, but no, I was frozen—struck dumb. This was it, then, she would not come back here again. I was aware that she watched me for a moment, and then, when clearly she began feeling uncomfortable, she started to walk away.

'Were they the only reasons, Miss Granger?' I asked quickly, finding my voice. I began to move towards her, but checked myself. She had her back to me and did not notice my hesitation. 'Do you still believe those preposterous allegations that you flung at me so readily during our last meeting? Have _they_ put you off ever coming back here?'

Despite it all, did she still wonder if there was a grain of truth in them somewhere?

I saw her shake her head negatively. ' _No_ , not at all,' she said, and for the first time all afternoon she sounded less like a detached outsider and more like the Hermione Granger who had thrown herself into nosing into my affairs with such gusto. 'I meant it when I said I regretted that incident.'

She faced me, and her expression was troubled. 'I'm sorry for what I said that day.' She sounded sincere; there was no note of reluctance or resentment. 'I realised, almost immediately, that I was wrong to have accused you of such behaviour. I…' She shrugged. 'I can't explain it, really.'

Neither could I. I felt that it should be the underlining for the whole of our recent re-acquaintance—'I can't explain it, really.'

She approached me, and I wondered if she would reach out and touch me, as she had done when she'd been as close to me in the past. However, she only sighed. 'That moment, when I overheard you in the staff room, it made me take a step back and ask myself, 'What have I been doing this week?' And do you know what? When I did, I hardly recognised myself. And I couldn't understand _why_ , after so long, I suddenly felt—' she visibly searched for the right word '—well… exhilarated.' She looked at me significantly. 'Did _you_ know what was happening? Because I suddenly realised that I did not.'

No, I had not had the first idea of what had been happening. Still didn't. The whole week had been unexpected, to say the least, and if I'd wondered at what the hell she was playing at, then it only seemed logical that she would reciprocate in kind.

'There was one thing I thought of then, at that moment, which had not bothered me before,' she continued, shrugging her shoulders. 'You're older than me—I suppose I was suddenly intimidated… Insecure, maybe…'

Intimidated… I could see why that might be so.

'I could only think that you saw me as terribly naïve, and that I'd made a fool of myself.'

So, she'd thought, for a moment, I'd seen her as an easy target to take advantage of. And yet, out of the both of us, she was the one with the experience in such matters of attraction—she was the _divorcee_ , not me. But, perhaps I should have been flattered that she considered I could charm a woman, so craftily, and be successful at it.

'You won't believe how stupid I felt, afterwards.' Her voice was not light with embarrassment, but instead, almost grim.

'Do you cringe over it often?' I asked calculatingly.

'Yes…'

'Good.'

She bit her lip, to hold back a smile, I think. Her cheeks were pink, though. Good.

And then there was an awkward silence between us. She shifted on the spot, and her eyes would no longer meet mine. 'Well, then…' She was going to leave, again.

Infuriatingly, I still could not allow it. I had to wonder as to what I was doing. I thought I should just leave it there. Under any other circumstances, I would have—it was not like me to persist in such a way, and I didn't even know to what end I was persisting, not really. Apparently there was something I was not satisfied with, and I would not see her go until I was. I found the will from somewhere to address her again.

'Anything else?' I asked, breathing deeply. I couldn't believe myself for hoping there was another reason she'd resigned her position. And the way I was badgering her—like I was some fool without any self-respect! Well, I could dwell on the shame of it later on, while nursing a few snifters.

She surveyed me at length, and I was surprised to see her countenance change to one of obvious hesitance. I willed her to continue and I wondered if she would. I sensed she was apprehensive, but she was a Gryffindor—she'd manage. She visibly steeled herself, and there was an element of hope in her voice that interested me. 'Are you sure you want to know?'

No; I was standing there making an arse of myself for the benefit of my health! My expression must have indicated something of my thoughts for she gave a short chuckle.

'Sorry… I, ah…' She stopped, now looking faintly green. For Merlin's sake! Did she not know this continued vacillating was going to do me in if she weren't careful? What the hell did she want to say? If she didn't hurry up there'd be nothing for it—I'd have to use Legilimency for the sake of my sanity!

'Yes?' I urged.

'I think you once told me that I was blind to the concept of 'conflict of interest,' she stated hurriedly. 'It appears you were right.'

I was confused. Was that it? She was telling me that I'd been right all along? Well, shit; as if I had ever considered it any other way! I think I may have lost two inches in height, then; I felt so suddenly deflated. She was obviously not going to say what I hoped, very much despite myself, to hear.

'It never bothered you before, why should it now?' In reality, what I really wanted to say, most impatiently, was 'Just leave it, Granger; just forget about it! I've got a bottle of Scotch that needs seeing to!'

She stared at me so hard that I wondered if she'd become catatonic. Then she spoke. 'I don't mean conflicting _jobs_ , Professor.'

She didn't? Oh. Suddenly, I felt invigorated again. I felt trepidation, unease, and through it all, unending anticipation. 'What, then?'

She clasped her hands together in front of her, clutched them together tightly, in fact, and an uneasy look appeared on her face. 'You see, I… have considered, wondered, _hoped_ that, if you were, ah, agreeable, _you_ might consent to be my… conflict of interest?' Her voice almost died in her throat over the last few words.

My throat went dry. She watched, looking for all the world like she might collapse with self-consciousness. 'It's silly, I know…'

This was it, what I'd wanted her to say, and now she had, I didn't know what to do. I should say something, I decided, quickly. 'You would have left without informing me of this?' Not the best way I could have responded, I know. But that is who I am. I respond to declarations of the soft sort with reproachful accusations.

She swallowed and nodded fractionally. 'I'm sorry; my courage failed me—I could not imagine that you would welcome any advance from me, after the way I behaved before…' She bit her lip.

'I see,' I said, trying to take it all in. She _was_ a silly girl—it was incontrovertible. She would have gone without saying anything. If _I_ hadn't have got up off my arse myself, she would have left and never come back. 'I see,' I repeated slowly.

'Do you?' she asked, a tad tremulously. 'But what shall you say, then?'

I looked intently at her, indeed, I had been doing so ever since I'd first accosted her. What should I say? The prospect of entanglement was now staring me in the face—how did I feel about it now? We'd talked before of monotony and repetitiveness—did I want to relinquish that, after all? And yet, wasn't life, to an extent, always about monotony and sameness? Who was to say that to choose another way was not to end up in the same place, eventually? The point was, it was about having someone with which to share life's routine, wasn't it?

I mentally shook myself. There was no need to analyse it to death. One thought prevailed above all others: _Just say the right thing, for once in your exceedingly sorry life!_

The right thing. I often, on purpose, say the wrong thing to extort a certain reaction for my own amusement, but in this instance, to say the right thing suddenly seemed easy. I forced my legs, which felt like lead, to cover the last step between us. She appeared rather anxious, but she needn't have. I held out my hand, hoping the action was not as tentative as I inwardly felt, but she took it without hesitation, which pleased me (how easily she could please me—the shame of it!). I considered her fingers, far daintier than my own.

'Miss Granger, I shall say…' _Bloody hell, don't bottle it now, Snape!_ 'I shall say—I should relish all opportunity of being of _any_ interest to you.'

There, I'd said it, had vocalised it aloud—it was out in the open. Only an _Obliviate_ could save me now.

'Oh,' she said with a mixture of quiet surprise and relief. 'That is, very well, indeed…' She smiled modestly.

Her lack of forthrightness, compared to the times when she had taken the initiative, I found rather charming, perhaps because _I_ had brought it about.

Where now? I wondered; _what_ now? I'd set myself a precedent, I decided I should probably continue with the momentum.

'Your work, then, with regards to education is over?' I asked.

'Yes.'

I nodded to myself. 'And you are, from today, no longer responsible for, or party to, any involvement between the school and the Ministry?'

Her eyes began to sparkle. 'The inspection is over—complete. I have nothing more to do with it. Indeed, I am just a glorified quill-pusher for Magical Creatures once more.' She smiled at her use of my former insult for her.

'But, nevertheless, my favourite quill-pusher, shall we say?'

She dipped her head coyly. I nearly smirked. Who knew I'd be such a good hand at the smooth-talk? That phrase nearly had her reaching for her wand not so long ago!

'Very well, then, now we know we are not acting unprofessionally…'

She was looking at our hands. 'We should continue where we left off several weeks ago,' she finished, raising her eyes to mine and I could immediately see that she'd found her verve again. She lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

Well, I would not lose my nerve this time. I would kick any concerns swiftly into touch (see—I _must_ have been a rugby player in a former life, at least). I pulled her against me, and I began to lean towards her—and then I felt it: The strange prickling sensation one feels when one is being observed.

'Hang on,' I whispered, and she looked at me in confusion. I turned my head to my left and there was Dumbledore, Phineas, and Dilys bloody Derwent staring out at me from within a still-life. They looked abashed when spotted, but I had my wand out in a flash and suddenly the painting was covered in a thick mist. There's nothing worse than oil-based voyeurs.

Job done, there was nothing to hang about for now. She raised herself up on her toes slightly, and I was mentally steeling myself for the moment to come (anyone would think I was repulsed by her), but then, she only went and brushed my hair back, letting her fingers splay over my cheek! Did she not know the damage such gentle caresses could do to such a creature starved of affection as me? As it was, I felt momentarily stunned. It was only a moment, mark you, but Merlin, it seemed to take an age to pass. In a flash of hyperbole, I thought I might keel over from the tension.

Voices started shouting at me in my head.

 _Breathe, Snape, you daft git!_

What the hell are you waiting for? A swift kick up the arse?

It was possibly one of the most stressful situations of my life, of which, you may gather, there have been many, but I was still ill-equipped.

And then, finally, I suppose we simply went for it. The distance closed, and I could use all the clichés, if I were so inclined—that her lips were soft, that my heart jumped, or that my blood sang. Clichés they may be, it didn't make them any less true, really, but I'd rather think in less flowery terms. I will simply say, then, that when our lips parted I should not have minded kissing her again, and again, and again (was that flowery? I may need to check).

She smiled widely at me, apparently pleased. 'You're not going to shout at me this time, then?'

'As long as _you_ don't run for the Aurors,' I muttered. She would not get away with teasing me, regardless of who she was.

She flushed. 'Sorry, again…'

I shrugged—it was of no consequence now, apart from for moments of amusement, of course. I had a feeling that, on past form, she was going to furnish me with many in the future. Maybe I'd organise a Pensieve especially for such moments.

It was strange, I admit, to have her standing there so close, but already I was getting used to having her hands about me. Certainly my heart beat a little less hard when her fingers touched my skin, of which there is precious little uncovered, I grant you, but they were fluttering at my jaw just then.

'The fog is beginning to clear around the painting,' she observed conspiratorially.

Actually, I didn't mind, especially as she seemed to feel this happening warranted three quick kisses before we were visible once more — one on the lips and one on each cheek. I only minded when she whispered into my ear, ever so slyly, 'You're smiling, you know.'

I assure you, I wasn't. Indeed, I highly resented her insinuation, so I scowled.

She lowered herself back to her feet, smirking slightly. What the hell had I opened myself to?

She brought her hands back to her side, and I sought to do the same. One of my hands, though, was nearly lost in that riotous hair she had. I think her hair was maybe what had fascinated me in the first place, and I ran my hand over it experimentally. 'Merlin, how that bun of yours infuriated me,' I muttered, before I could stop myself.

' _What_?' She laughed incredulously and touched her hair self-consciously.

'Never mind,' I said quickly. Insight into the inner workings of _my_ mind might scare her off, I decided.

I proceeded to ask her if she should like to stay a little longer. Who could have predicted that I should prevail upon an inspector, albeit a former inspector, _not_ to leave? One of the people I'd decided was to become the new scourge of my life. It was possibly the irony to end all ironies. Though, this whole tale might be considered one of infinite irony—from start to finish.

Voices could be heard further down the hallway, and I turned my head towards the staff room. 'They didn't wait around to celebrate, did they?' Pissed as farts in a few hours, they'd be.

I supposed I had good reason to celebrate, too. Indeed, I'd done fairly well out of what I'd thought would be a hideous situation. The school hadn't failed the inspection, had done tolerably well, in fact, and in the process, I'd bagged myself a Granger. Funny how things turn out.

A suggestion was put to me that we could either go and join the frivolities in the staff room, or go and find somewhere more quiet. Well, that was going to take me all of two seconds to deliberate over, wasn't it?

I offered her my arm.

'I believe I never did give you the full tour of the castle, Miss Granger. Did I ever tell you that I have a whole tower to myself?'

Indeed, a tower mercifully free of all interruptions. The rabble in the staff room were unlikely to miss me after a sherry or five. Though, I thought I might have to smuggle her through my office if I wanted a peaceful life. On reflection, that was probably already a lost cause.

'A _whole_ tower? Impressive.'

I thought so, even if I said so myself.

Besides the more enjoyable diversions I had in mind, I expected there was much discussion to be had between us, too.

Indeed, I had a most pressing question I would to put to her, namely—

Why the _hell_ had she only given me a 'very good' instead of an 'excellent'?

 _Why_?

What more did a man have to do?

She must have simply been overcompensating in case her 'conflict of interest' became publicly known.

Yes, that must have been it.

Troublesome girl.

FIN

* * *

AN: It's done! Thanks for reading and reviewing : )


End file.
